


From Bad To Worse

by DarkeAngelus



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Capsule Corporation, F/M, Friendship/Love, Horror, Planet Namek, Romance, Saiyans, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/pseuds/DarkeAngelus
Summary: This story focuses on the budding romance of our favorite reluctant couple: Vegeta and Bulma, as they face over-whelming obstacles in their pursuit to be together.





	1. Setting the Stage

**Author's Note:**

> The events take place at the beginning of the three-year gap before the 'Android Saga' begins.

 

* * *

  _...Wake up, my little Prince_ , a soft voice breathed in his ear.

Vegeta snapped awake with a gasp and, instantly, the first thought to claw its way through the remnants of his nightmare was: _Where am I?_ It was a common reaction created from decades of waking up in unfamiliar territory aboard warships, space pods, and an unnamed multitude of alien worlds.

Gripping the arms of the chair he was seated in, he looked out of the window and didn't recognize the urban landscape that was spread out as far as he could see. In the admittedly early hour all he saw were contrasting lights amidst a cityscape of twisting spires and gentle curved shapes. There were no fires indicative of a raging battle, no screams of the dying or the charring stench of death that he was so accustomed to. If anything, the city beyond appeared remarkably peaceful and the Saiyan wondered what he was doing here as a direct contrast to such apparent tranquility. Then it came to him.

Earth . . . he was on Earth.

Falling back in the chair with a grunt, he raised an absent hand to his waist in search of that comforting presence and his weary features tightened when he came up empty. Still half-asleep it eventually dawned on him that his tail was gone; another casualty of Saiyan pride and arrogance that this world had effortlessly claimed. He slumped in defeat at the mere reminder. No home world, no throne, no people, no tail. He was a mere shadow of a Saiyan now. A ghost holding onto lost traditions nobody cared about. Why did he even bother?

Shaking his head, he got to his feet while rubbing the small of his back with a grimace of discomfort. He eyed the bed in the room with resentment and wished he could get used to its soft surface. All he ever managed was a few hours of restless slumber in that rectangular nest before he ended up going to the chair and sleeping that that arms-folded/legs-spread pose that years of being in the space pods had drilled into him. It was the only position he found remotely comfortable anymore. It was just another legacy of being a puppet of Frieza he had to deal with in the course of his life.

Glancing at the clock on the dresser he saw with no surprise that it was barely five in the morning. He hadn't gotten more than four hours sleep on any given night since crash-landing in the Capsule Corporation yard two months ago, and it didn't look as if this time was going to be any different.

With a sigh, he stalked off towards the bathroom in the hopes of salvaging something out of this already shitty day . . .

 

* * *

Still more than half-asleep, Bulma shuffled her way into the kitchen of the Capsule Corporation building in her nightgown and fuzzy slippers and began to salvage something for breakfast. Ever since Vegeta's unexpected return, the Briefs family food budget had skyrocketed. It was six o'clock in the morning and Bulma was hoping to beat the moody Saiyan to the last piece of chocolate cake left over from yesterday’s supper. The minute she opened the fridge door, her perspective of the day dropped a notch. The cake was gone. Not only that, there were only two pieces of bread left, both crusts, one apple with a bite out of it, one cheese slice, and a bottle of juice with about one gulp left in it. Other than condiments the refrigerator was bare.

"I should have known . . . " she muttered. She pulled out the milk carton and swished the contents with a frown. There was about half a cup of milk leftover from Vegeta’s assault. When she grabbed a bowl and overturned a box of her favorite cereal, only a meager handful of survivors spilled out.

"Son of a bitch." She placed her face in her hands in disgust. It was going to be a long day.

A shower and a change of clothes later she headed eagerly downstairs to the Research and Development labs on the ground floor of the headquarters building. She, her father, and a handful of technicians were mapping out a new communications microchip that had the potential to revolutionize interstellar transmissions; if any of them could figure out the schematics, that is. The chip relied on an unheard of decagonal co-dependency that more than quadrupled the speed and processing power of the model currently in use. Bulma was translating the elaborate schematics into the company mainframe to make a three-dimensional image to better understand the chip's function. She'd never admit it, not even to her father, but the computational notations that the designer had included with the detailed designs were almost over her head. _Almost._ It was the greatest challenge she'd had since Namek and if Bulma thrived on anything, it was a challenge.

Before she reached the doors of the main lab Vegeta pushed them open as he was leaving. The pair came to a sudden stop and eyed one another warily before the Saiyan piped up, "You look like shit. Is that the style now?"

"I wouldn't know. You set the standard," she shot back, unruffled.

His lips twitched in amusement, which was about as close to a sincere smile as he got when he was around her. "Good comeback. You do realize that people like you who believe that they know everything are annoying to those of us who actually do."

"Vegeta, your arrogance is only matched by your insignificance. Why do you take yourself so seriously? Nobody else does."

"I'd be very easy to get along with if you could just learn to worship me," he said adding a wry chuckle at her dirty look.

"Enough with the verbal sparring," she said in surrender. "You know, I didn't appreciate you cleaning out the kitchen of everything edible this morning."

"Your mother should shop more often," he said aloofly. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a black, sleeveless T-shirt, on his way to start his morning jog. The explosion in the gravity simulator had been a week before and she could still see the faded bruises on his face and arms.

"Mom's been shopping practically every day since you arrived, you moocher."

"A Saiyan in training needs to eat."

"Is that so? Well, food costs money I'll have you know. Not that you give a damn. Maybe you should get a job and contribute to the household instead of freeloading and intimidating my father every time you break something."

"You seem to have this preoccupation with food, woman. You'd be better off coming with me on my run."

Bulma blinked at him. "Did you- Are you implying that I'm out of shape?"

That damnable smirk of his was back. There were some days when she wanted to claw that smile off his face, but she knew she'd never survive the action. "Some exercise would do you some good," was all he said as his answer.

She sputtered for a few seconds and then stepped around him to continue to the lab. "I don't have time for this bullshit. I'm working on something important!"

"You are up early. For you, anyway. What's got you so excited?"

"Nothing you would understand, just a micro-chip design. I'd try to explain it to you, but it would be over your head." She added a sniff of disdain.

His dark eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Try me. Saiyan economy was based on technology-"

"-That your race stole from helpless worlds as you conquered them. I know all about how your kind made its living."

Beginning to get angry now, he persisted, "We still had to figure out ourselves how to use the technology in order to replicate it for our own uses. You seem to dismiss the Saiyajin as warlike savages. We were a complex and intellectual race of noble warriors."

"Butter it up all you want to. It was that arrogance that killed your people off," Bulma said in a dismissive tone. "Now you're just a worthless prince of an extinct race. I imagine the universe is breathing a sigh of relief over that. I know I am."

He made a choked hiss in response, his face visibly darkening at her clipped words. That vein on his left temple popped out and for an instant, she actually thought he was going to attack her. He ended up whirling away and stalking out of the building, almost bowling over an employee who was coming into work.

Bulma regretted her words immediately. Vegeta, like the rest of the surviving Saiyans, had been forced to work for the very being that had been responsible for the destruction of their home world. He hadn't needed her to grind his face into the fact as coldly as she had. He could just be such a damnable, irritating person at times!

She debated giving chase but caught a glimpse as he left the compound to begin his run and knew she wouldn't have a hope of catching up with him. Reporting to the lab she went to her console to begin the day's data-entry, but her mind just wasn’t on the job. Several technicians drifted over and attempted light banter only to find her lost in thought and unresponsive. They decided to leave her alone. Eventually a hand dropped on her shoulder, making her jump in surprise and when she looked up she saw the kindly face of her father smiling down at her. "It's lunch time, daughter."

She sat back and stretched. "Is it noon already? I lost track of the time."

"I think you're due for a break," Dr. Briefs said in an amused tone, studying the monitor. "You've entered the exact same grid-radiant coordinates three times in a row."

She scrolled back and saw that he was right. "...oh. Sorry about that. It would make the job easier if I could talk to the designer just once."

"I told you that the blueprints came from one of the Capsule Corp. labs in Europe. The technician is currently in the field and unavailable."

"I'd like to meet him when he comes back," she said as she got slowly up from her chair. "The guy is a genius. I think I'm in love!"

Smiling for no apparent reason, her father replied, "You'll get to know him in due time, I'm sure. Come along to my office. Your mother brought down sandwiches."

Her stomach growled, pouncing on the word, and both of them laughed. For the next hour Bulma spent the time alternating between eating and ranting over her brief confrontation with Vegeta earlier in the corridor. Her father compassionately remained silent while he listened and waited until she had gotten the anger out of her system before he said gently, "That wasn't a very nice thing to say, Bulma."

She drank from her cup of coffee, collecting her thoughts, before finally admitting, "No, I guess it wasn't but he's such an arrogant jerk most of the time! Sometimes I wish I had never . . ." 

"Invited him back here after all of that terrible Namek business?"

"Yeah," Bulma muttered. When Vegeta had accompanied the surviving Namek people to stay at Capsule Corp. she had told her parents that he had been an ally that that they had met on the planet, deliberately keeping his origins vague. It was fortunate that he barely resembled the alien who, with Nappa in tow, had struck terror into every inhabitant on Earth. Her parents never suspected his true identity and she had to endure their eager acceptance of him even while she, and the rest of their friends, knew the brutal truth of the Saiyan’s destructive past.

That had been almost two years ago and they all had settled into the charade. But she still didn't have to like it. Or him. "He's damned ungrateful for everything we're doing for him. I wish he had just stayed out in space and left us alone!"

"But he didn't," her father said in Vegeta's defense. "He returned here because he had nowhere else to go. From what you've told me he has no home or people to turn to. He's among strangers here and views everything he encounters as a possible threat. Now tell me, how can I let my conscience turn my back on him and send him away?"

Her cheeks burned and she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Part of it was that she'd had to lie to her father but the other, surprisingly, was feeling sympathy for the Saiyan. "Dad, Vegeta is a lost cause. He's only here for the free food and the gadgets that you build for him. Once this business with the androids is all over, he'll take off and forget all about us. He already did it once before." The Saiyan's 15-month disappearance during the Garlic Saga was still something of a sore point for her. Vegeta had hung around Capsule Corp. for almost four months until the Namekians had used their Dragonballs to wish back Krillin and Yamcha. Once he had heard that Goku was still alive and out in space somewhere he had stolen the Capsule ship and blasted off without a word to anyone. Her parents had accepted the act in stride, but Bulma had felt betrayed and used. None of them had gotten so much as a single gesture of appreciation for all that they had done for him. Now that he was back, it was happening all over again.

Dr. Briefs considered this very carefully as he examined his daughters' frustration. "You make a good point, but I ask you; if he is so unredeemable then why is he training at such a maniacal pace to face a battle that isn't even his?"

"It's his competitiveness with Goku, that's all," Bulma said as her answer but it sounded weak. Her father heard the indecisiveness in her words and kissed the top of her head and went back to work, leaving her alone to ponder his words and her own conflicted feelings.

Before returning to her office, she left the headquarters building and walked around it to the south side where the Capsule 3 gravity simulator was located. The circular chamber was rocking in its support brackets as the interior endured one of Vegeta's frenzied training sessions. Before the accident that had leveled the original capsule, the Saiyan had been training at three hundred times Earth gravity. Despite his injuries and the delay in replacing the module, he still insisted on continuing where he had left off. Bulma had given up trying to make him see reason, but it worried her that he appeared so driven in his training that it had actually reached a point of masochism. It took some time for her to understand Saiyan physiology: The more severe an injury a Saiyan received, the stronger one got. Vegeta was going out of his way to cripple himself just so he could reach a level that Goku boasted easily. It was driving him insane.

She climbed onto one of the supports and looked inside the closest view portal. The chamber was active, the interior lit with its red caution lights and the sparse surroundings shimmered as if through a heat haze from the inhuman pressure imposed on it. Directly across from her Vegeta was engaged in deflecting ki bolts back and forth between several robotic sentries. There was none of the Saiyan’s usual precision or grace with his parries; his movements were only clumsy desperation.

He tried to get to the air to evade one attack and was hauled roughly down by the extreme gravity where only a tight roll saved him from being shot. He was wearing down; even Bulma could see that from her vantage point. He was breathing so hard that he appeared close to hyperventilating. When one of the sentry's deflected his ki bolt back at him, he managed to punch it away but it created the necessary diversion for the other to get on his blindside and attack. The next shot drove him to his knees and the ricochet of the remaining blast nailed him directly in the ribs before he could bring up a shield of defense.

Bulma flinched when he heard his agonized screaming but remained on her perch knowing full well any interference would not be tolerated. Beneath her Vegeta struggled to rise from where the blast had thrown him and coughed up an alarming amount of blood as he cradled his side. He got agonizingly to his feet, his knees threatening to buckle under him and he faced the looming sentries with clenched fists.

"AGAIN!" he yelled to the computer for a repeat of this sure torture.

Bulma was unable to watch anymore and lowered herself to the ground even as the capsule began rocking again. She returned to her console to resume her typing, but it was a long time before she could will her hands to stop shaking.

 

* * *

Normally aware of his surroundings Vegeta had been oblivious to the spectator, which was just as well. It had been Bulma's earlier words that had insulted his heritage and, more importantly, _him_ that had driven him into such a self-destructive rage. There was no telling what might have happened if he had caught sight of her when he had been struck down. It might well have been the final blow to his ego that would have turned Capsule Corp. into cinders. His intense fury eclipsed even the agony in his side as he leaped and flipped about the chamber, avoiding laser volleys with more recklessness than skill. A part of him that was nagging away at the back of his mind with growing volume was asking why he even bothered with this useless training. He wasn't getting any stronger; it was almost the opposite. At this rate, he would never surpass Kakarrot.

He lost his concentration at the mere thought of his hated rival and stumbled. Two laser blasts slammed into his back and drove him face-first into the floor. He grayed out for several minutes until he started retching up blood and hauled himself to his knees before he choked. The blood was dark red, indicative of a serious internal injury.

His training was over for the day. Sweat ran into his eyes like bitter tears, blurring his vision. He lowered his head and brought both fists down on the floor in frustration.

That evening he failed to show up for supper and the door to his quarters was closed. It was the only indication that the Saiyan would ever give that he had overdone it earlier, he would certainly never admit it. On those occasions, he came and went by the bedroom window rather then risk being seen in the house and encouraging unwanted attention. Vegeta's race had been fiercely xenophobic of other species and he was no exception, withdrawing from the Briefs family unless he needed something. Part of the problem was his damnable pride, Bulma observed. The Saiyan could never simply ask nicely, he had to demand things in an attempt to save face, creating unnecessary tension. She was starting to understand him a little and was coming to realize that not everything that came out of his mouth was meant to be interpreted as an insult or threat. Very often she got the impression that there was a double meaning to his words if she could just take the time to puzzle them out. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure if it was worth the bother to even make the attempt, given its source.

When she collected the empty dishes to take into the kitchen she saw her mother making the final additions to a tray she was going to take up to Vegeta's room. At her daughters discouraging look the blond spouted, "Well, dear, he HAS been training all day. The last meal he'd eaten was at five this morning and I imagine that he's rather famished!"

"This isn't a bed and breakfast, mother," Bulma said coolly, watching as the other woman put aluminum foil over the plate of leftovers to keep it warm. Despite her better judgment she volunteered to take the tray up to Vegeta's room and ignored her mother's smug expression when she left the kitchen to go upstairs.

The Briefs had generously offered the stranded Saiyan his own quarters on the third floor of the headquarters building down the hall from their own living area. It unnerved Bulma, who liked to roam the labyrinth of corridors after dark, to have to be careful what she wore in case she bumped into Vegeta, who was also a late-night prowler. So far, the two had managed to avoid one another and she wanted to keep it that way. She would have preferred that he move out entirely, but he had arrived at Capsule Corp. with only his perforated armor to call his own and no money. It irked her that he could conveniently fall back on his pride in an argument but seemed to have no trouble taking advantage of handouts they offered him: free room and board and, according to her mother, a generous spending allowance. She figured the Saiyan to be just one big hypocrite because of that fact and it was one of the reasons that she had little respect for him. In his own way, he was no better than Yamcha, who had also been a user, but at least the human fighter had shown appreciation for what the Briefs had freely given him.

She reached his room and was going to just leave the tray outside in the hall for him to trip over later. She ended up gritting her teeth and knocking lightly on the door. She tried for several minutes and experimentally tried the doorknob when she got no answer, finding it unlocked. Not sure what she would find she braved herself to open it and step inside.

The room was quite large with an adjoining bathroom that gave the quarters the privacy he required. It was tastefully furnished with a large dresser on the right-hand side where a small TV was placed, currently turned off. There were no personal possessions visible to her eye except for the battered chestplate of his armor lying on the chair. Her eyes softened at the sight of all of the pain that was etched into the white and gold material: The gaping blast hole over the stomach from Krillin's attack, the cracks and splinters of severe beatings, and the smaller hole over the area of the heart that had finally killed him. Involuntarily, she had to submerge a shudder at the mere sight of it. _What thoughts did Vegeta have when he looked at all that damage?_ she wondered uneasily.

On the left side of the room was the double bed with a night table beside it. The lamp was turned on low and Bulma could see that Vegeta was asleep, his back to her. She hissed in breath as she approached the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand. The blankets were down to his waist and she could plainly see the immense bruise that covered his rib cage and lower back.

Softly clearing her throat, she attempted, “Vegeta...”

His form might have given a twitch in response or it could have been just her imagination. He was exhausted, that much was clear for him not to react to her close proximity. She found herself reaching out to touch him when she quickly drew her hand back and left the room as quietly as she came in. For no reason that she could fathom, her cheeks were burning.

"What on Earth was I thinking?" she whispered to herself.

 


	2. Sabotage and Boredom

Early the next morning Vegeta went for his usual run... but he was walking back less than a half-hour later. He'd started coughing even before he made it a block from Capsule Corporation and when he'd wiped his mouth, a bloody froth had clung to the back of his hand. The pain in his side wouldn't be ignored and he abandoned his jog scarcely before it had even begun. He returned to the compound with a look of defeat on his sweat-streaked face and, being a creature of habit, went straight to the gravity simulator.

 _I'm in no shape for this,_ he admonished himself even as he punched in the day’s training session. He eyed the setting of three hundred on the readout, his hand wavering over the 'engage' button. He figured that if he overdid it this time the damn machine might just finally kill him.

He discovered he didn't really give a shit one way or the other. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the button and prepared himself for the over-whelming pressure that would compress the broken bones of his rib cage like a vice until they perforated his insides beyond saving.

Nothing happened.

Almost disappointed, he frowned at the console and hammered down on the engage switch with the same result. The data display assured him that all systems were ready and waiting, but the damn thing was completely unresponsive. He opened the cabinet door beneath the desk and lied down on his back and slid inside to peer up at the circuitry of the console. He had absolutely no idea what he was looking for, but he was getting sick and tired of running to Dr. Briefs (or to his bitch daughter) to repair the simulator.

The Saiyan was not as helpless around technology as some would like to believe. He was actually very skilled at dismantling objects to study their inner workings but, unfortunately, was at a loss of ever getting them to work again. It was his Saiyan blood to blame for that; evolved enough to steal technology but not far enough along to develop any of his own. His time with Frieza had broadened his horizons somewhat, introducing him to alien technical data that would have been forbidden knowledge if he had remained on Planet Vegeta and permitted his destiny of ruling the world. There had been times on missions with Nappa and Radditz where he had been able to make makeshift repairs to their scouters or space pods when they became damaged. The other two would only stand on the sidelines and scratch their heads like a pair of inbred monkeys while he fussed with the equipment. Being an Elite-ranked Saiyan, as well as Royalty, Vegeta wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination and he caught on to things relatively quickly-

-But he was damned if he could figure out why the simulator wouldn't start!

"Doesn't make any damned sense," he muttered to himself. It was a habit he had gotten from Bulma on many of her repair trips to this very chamber. It appeared to help her concentrate. "The display is saying that everything checks out which is complete bullshit. That must mean that the problem’s with the stupid switch. So... which line runs to the damned thing? Hrmph! There it is!" Selecting a dark blue cable, he gave it a direct tug and flinched as sparks flew before everything around him went dark. He had just disconnected a power relay to the data processor and the entire system crashed as a result.

He blinked for a few seconds. "Fuck," he said in disgust.

Fifteen minutes later, he was walking down the stairs of the headquarters building on the search for Bulma or her father. His shoulders were practically up around his ears in embarrassment over the situation. It was easy to explain an explosion that caused damage, but he wasn't sure how to phrase what he had done so that he didn't come across as an incompetent moron, which was exactly how he felt. He hoped that Dr. Briefs was in. At least the old man could be easily intimidated into doing what he wanted. Unfortunately, the company President was away on this day and that left his daughter in charge. Oh, happy day.

Bulma was in her office and the secretary was absent at her desk (she had seen Vegeta coming and went to the bathroom to avoid him). Vegeta tried the doorknob and found the door locked. Grumbling under his breath, he brought one knuckle onto the wood in a knock that made the door tremble in its frame. Jumping in surprise, Bulma turned and saw his silhouette in the frosted glass. With that compact physique and spiked hair, his identity was unmistakable. Her face betrayed her surprise until it resumed its normal expression of irritation. She got up and opened the door, casting the secretary's empty chair a knowing glare as he boldly charged inside. "I'm betting that this isn't just a social call," she commented as she returned to her desk.

He paused for a moment to take in one disbelieving glance around the cluttered room. The huge office looked as if an explosion of paper and parts had been detonated prior to his appearance. There wasn't a piece of furniture that wasn't buried under books or printed matter and he had to watch his step before he tripped over some half-completed device she hadn't gotten around to completing. In a reflex action, he sniffed the air and almost gagged from the stench. There was an old sandwich rotting away in some littered corner somewhere, but Bulma appeared oblivious. His impression of her, poor to begin with, dropped another notch at the sight of such disarray.

In answer to her statement, he grumbled, "No, it's not. The simulator is broken again."

She didn't look surprised. "What's wrong with it?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have to come to you, would I?" he snapped at her, kicking aside a broken helmet as he stalked across the room. "When can you fix the damned thing?"

"You'll have to take a number. I'm very busy," she said calmly.

He noticed the designs of the communication chip she was trying to decipher for the computer facsimile. He picked one up and stared at the complex design before she snatched it out of his hand. "Don't touch," she scolded him as if he were a small child and actually pushed him away from the desk.

His face flushing, he said in a rough voice, "How long before you can make repairs?"

"Two days."

" _Two days?!_ Are you insane?"

"Keep it up and I can make it three," she said. "This chip has top priority. There are already competitive bids coming in and we don't even have the specs translated into code-"

He was shaking his head at her technical babble. "I can't wait that long."

Turning in her chair, she stared at him closely and noticed that he appeared paler than usual and was obviously favoring his side with each unnecessary movement. "Tough, Vegeta. Go for a jog, go swimming at the pool, play some tennis, I don't care. The simulator stays offline until I can get around to it. End of discussion." She swiveled back around and resumed her typing, purposely ignoring him. In the background all she could hear was his outraged sputtering until she heard footfalls and the resultant slam of the door as he left. She cast a knowing smile at his retreating back and pulled a small object out of her breast pocket, eyeing it with a grin.

It was the diode to the gravity simulator's engage switch.

After leaving Vegeta's quarters last night, she had gone to the simulator and deliberately sabotaged it so that it would give him the opportunity to heal. The tactic was unfair but, considering the Saiyan’s irrationality in his training habits, she felt justified doing it. Laughing to herself, she tucked it carefully back in her pocket and went back to work.

Vegeta returned to ground level and shoved the double doors of the building wide open as he stepped through, blinking at the early morning light. _What was he going to do?_ It was a question that held almost a degree of panic for him. It wasn't as if the reality of being idle was a new sensation. He'd encountered it between missions, after all, and had always found something else to do as a diversion. However, this was not a planet or a warship that was ordered to cater to his every whim. This was Earth where he had to constantly fight for even the smallest scrap of respect and where everything around him was an unknown. He hated this planet, hated its people and its peculiar customs and, most of all, hated the fact that he was held at its mercy with nowhere to go and had nobody to turn to. He had never felt so alone in all of his life. Without the simulator to occupy his mind, he was forced to deal with the predicament of being a displaced refugee who possessed nothing more than the clothes on his back. Having to accept that lowly status was almost unendurable.

He decided to head back to the simulator and puzzle out what he had done wrong. At the very least, a thorough dismantling of the system would give him invaluable knowledge of its inner workings and teach the woman a good lesson when she had to put it all back together later. It might also encourage her to get off her expanding ass faster the next time he broke it. A ghost of a smile crossed his tense features in anticipation of the fight that would follow that discovery. The woman might be a disorganized slob, but she had a tongue on her that could draw blood. As much as he hated to admit it, a part of him (a _very_ small part) reveled in their rare verbal sparring matches.

"Hey, Vegeta!"

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Yamcha, King of the Freeloaders, and his floating pet rodent, Paur, waving to him as they came into the compound. He had apparently arrived to make use of the Briefs’ indoor pool, if his swimming trunks and the towel around his neck were any indication. The Saiyan didn't take him seriously as a fighter. He remembered how the young human had been the first of Earth's supposed Special Forces to die when he and Nappa had arrived on the Earth, and from a lowly Saibaman no less.

He didn't acknowledge the greeting and only stared back at him resentfully.

"You gonna go swimming, too?" Yamcha asked when he came up to the shorter man, relishing how Vegeta had to incline his head to look up at him. It was a small victory, but the human took what he could get.

"No," Vegeta sneered. "The chemicals in that smelly water make me itch."

"Oh. How come you're not training then?"

"That piece of shit simulator is down. _Again!_ I just ordered your stupid woman to get off her incompetent ass and fix it."

Paur gave a squeak at his tone and Yamcha's face tightened. He didn't have an intimate relationship with Bulma anymore, but he still considered her one of his closest friends. His ego had taken a hard hit the day she permitted the villainous alien to move back into Capsule Corp. He wanted to discuss his feelings of betrayal with her over that issue but, considering she had been dealing with his unfaithfulness at the time, the topic appeared redundant. So, he accepted her decision, but he sure as hell didn't have to like it _._ Or Vegeta, for that matter _._ "Watch very carefully how you talk about Bulma when I'm around. You got it?"

Vegeta looked at him with bored, half-interest. "Am I getting too smart with you? How would you ever know?" he asked sarcastically.

"I mean it. You’d better be nice to Bulma or so help me-"

"-What, human?" Pouncing in his words, Vegeta glared at him. "Are you looking for a fight? I'm bored right now. I'd be happy to oblige you."

To his credit, Yamcha backed down and the last thread of anything resembling respect that the Saiyan might have had for him went out the window. "I'm no match for you," the fighter admitted grudgingly.

"Bet on it. Now go play with your pussy and get out of my sight, you useless idiot." Walking away, Vegeta gave an infuriating backhanded wave of dismissal in the pair’s direction. When he got no reaction, he added with a sly grin, "Granted the bitch isn't anything special, but she must have been slumming to have put up with trash like you for as long as she did."

Yamcha bristled at the comment but made no move, so the Saiyan decided to drop the bombshell: "Or an even stupider whore than I figured her to be."

That did it. Bellowing with rage, the fighter threw away his towel and dove for the Saiyan with both hands glowing.

Shortly after Vegeta had left her office, Bulma began to get the first stirrings of doubt itch away at the back of her skull. As much as she enjoyed getting one over on the unstable Saiyan, her victory didn't give her as much pleasure as she thought it would. As near as she could tell, Vegeta didn't have any hobbies or interests outside of his training to occupy him. Perhaps she should have disabled the pressure setting so that it wouldn't have been able to go above twenty. He would have still complained about it (there was absolutely no doubt about _that_ ), but at least it would have been some kind of a workout for him.

If her friendship with Goku had taught her anything, it was that injuries didn’t seem to keep Saiyans down for very long. Her actions may well have just unleashed a pissed-off uber-powered alien onto her unsuspecting city. She thought of the crater that had once been Metro East and she became filled with a sense of dread.

She pulled out the part again and frowned. "Noon. I'll track the little creep down and say that I was joking and that he has absolutely no damned sense of humor. I'll fix the simulator at noon. He’d better be happy."

Satisfied, she went back to work and kept a close eye on the clock on her desktop. Less than four hours to go...

 _I'm not gonna last five minutes!_ Yamcha thought wildly.

He executed two quick back flips and narrowly avoided a foot that came out of nowhere and missed his lower back by inches as it sank into the ground to the ankle. Vegeta pulled it free and moved with that uncanny speed of his and re-materialized in front of the retreating fighter. The two exchanged a flurry of blows until the Saiyan's knee connected with the large muscle of Yamcha's thigh, making it go numb. The human fell gracelessly.

Vegeta closed in for the finishing strike and had something warm and fuzzy cover his face screaming in a pitch that almost burst an eardrum. He grabbed a handful of Paur's fur and flung the changeling away with a snarl. "Get away from me, vermin, or I'll find out if you're as tasty as you look!"

Using the thankful diversion to get his leg back under him, Yamcha leapt to his feet and continued the battle. By unanimous decision, the pair willingly decided not to use ki blasts in their joust. He wasn't sure of the Saiyan's logic on the issue, but he wasn't discounting his good fortune. Vegeta's martial art skills were of a discipline that the Earth-bound fighter had never encountered before and a part of him was actually cataloguing several of the graceful kicks and parries for later use into his own repertoire, if he survived the encounter that is. There wasn't one piece of his anatomy that the feisty alien didn't use as a weapon as Yamcha found out when a widow-peaked forehead collided with his nose.

"AGH! Youb son ob ba bitch!" Yamcha howled, cupping his face.

Dancing away from him and laughing, Vegeta taunted, "Don't bring my mother into this or you just might make me angry." He was purposely drawing out the conflict in his boredom like a well-fed cat torturing a half-dead mouse and having a grand old time. It was almost like the old days when he had sparred with Raditz or Nappa, both desperately out of his league but handy punching bags nonetheless. He actually gave Yamcha time to shake the injury off before they were back trading blows in a frenzied blur that defied all known laws of physics. A small crowd of Capsule Corp. day staffers had collected at the entrance of the building to watch the fight. They commented in low, hushed toned that the pair moved so fast at times that they actually seemed to disappear from sight.

Yamcha was beginning to realize that the Saiyan was only playing with him and that humiliation was just about the final straw. Gathering the last shreds of will from his depleted reserves, he attacked Vegeta in a frenzy, actually driving the smaller man into a surprised defensive. With a practiced eye, the young fighter noticed how the Saiyan made a greater effort to block blows aimed for his right side then for the left and decided to focus on that potential weakness. He feinted to one side and made a visible attempt at a roundhouse punch and smiled when Vegeta automatically brought his right arm up to deflect it. With a well-aimed kick, Yamcha brought his foot into the alien’s vulnerable side as hard as he could.

Bellowing, Vegeta hit the ground and writhed in agony as he cradled his wounded side. Yamcha figured that he must have kicked harder than he thought as the Saiyan coughed up a mixture of blood and bile into the grass, struggling to rise.

 _Something wasn't right with this picture..._ "Uh, Vegeta? Hey, maybe this wan't such a good idea. Let's put this fight off for some another time. What do you say? Truce?" Yamcha offered hopefully. His own face was coated in blood from his broken nose. The gore dripped down his chin and was smeared across his bare chest.

"You started this," Vegeta rasped and paused long enough to spit out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. "I'm going to finish it."

 


	3. Caught Red-Handed

"Penny? Where are you?"

Looking down at the empty chair of her secretary's desk with growing frustration, Bulma left her office to go search for the missing woman. She checked the bathroom just in case she was sleeping off an exhaustive night of partying, but all of the stalls were empty. The break room was similarly deserted, which was a rare thing. There was always someone in there trying to sneak a smoke (including her or her father). She heard quick footsteps out in the corridor and craned her head around the door in time to see Charles McNeal, a scientist in Research and Development, moving to the stairs.

"Hey, Charles?" Bulma called after him, "Where the hell is everyone?"

"There's a big fight going on outside! I just called Security!" he yelled back and rushed up the stairs in the hopes to see some action before the guards broke up the conflict.

"Vegeta," she cursed under her breath. She wished she felt some surprise at the news. The damned Saiyan couldn't even keep his anger in check until noon.

Before she went upstairs, she had a stop to make first.

 

* * *

If Vegeta had been play-fighting before; now he was going all out.

Yamcha was now discovering this painful fact the hard way. His arms and legs were bruised from deflecting the Saiyan’s empowered blows and more and more strikes were getting through his weakened defenses. Despite the blood that Vegeta kept coughing up, he was cruising along on his anger with absolutely no problem at all. The fighter wanted to end this without a fatality (most importantly his own), so he dropped his guard and let Vegeta get in behind him and secure a successful choke hold. He brought his elbow back into the Saiyan’s injured side as hard as he could, hearing the alien grunt in response. The arm around his neck just kept getting tighter. Yamcha, realizing his sight was starting to blur around the edges, pummeled away in growing panic until the vice around his neck finally fell away and Vegeta staggered backwards. Both men fell to their knees, struggling for breath.

"Truce?" Yamcha tried again when he got his wind partially back.

"Never," Vegeta said through a mouthful of blood. He was starting to rise to continue the fight-

-Only to face a cloud of acrid smoke.

Bulma had retrieved a fire extinguisher and was now spraying it between the two antagonists, hiding each one from the other. "Yamcha, get inside! Now!" she hollered at her dazed friend.

Seeing what she was doing, Yamcha took full advantage of the diversion and scrambled over to the crowd of onlookers where several people helped him. Placing herself between Vegeta and the building, Bulma held the extinguisher in a steady pose intending to blast the Saiyan if he looked like he was going to attack. "Calm down, Vegeta."

"Calm down? That moron started it!" he said, but the fight appeared to have finally gone out of him. He got slowly to his feet but remained bent over as he protectively held his wounded side. Bulma saw that the right side of his shirt and the waistband of his shorts were soaked in blood and her dread intensified. She dropped the extinguisher and rushed over to him. "You're hurt-"

He slapped her hand away. "Go tend to your idiot lover. I don't need your help," he told her and flew away to the east side of the headquarters building where his quarters resided.

Vibrating in anger, she pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled for composure and noticed Paur nearby, watching her anxiously. The little changeling’s fur was all puffed up in agitation making her look like a small, floating ball. "Paur, what happened here?"

Moving over to her, she excitedly spouted, "You got here just in time, Bulma! It was awful! That nasty Vegeta was going to-"

"Who started the fight?"

The creature's eyes flitted uneasily to the building entrance, where everyone was slowly returning to work now that the fight was over. "Well, Vegeta said some really awful things about you and-"

"-And Yamcha, the hothead, decided to defend my honor. How noble of him," Bulma said dryly, unimpressed. "I'll deal with Vegeta later after he's had time to cool down. Let's go see what shape Yamcha is in-"

Paur gave a happy trill.

"-Before I kill him myself," Bulma finished.

An hour later, it was déjà vu all over again as she went to the door of Vegeta's quarters and knocked briefly on its surface before daring herself to enter. She had just seen to Yamcha's injuries; nothing too serious surprisingly. Either the Saiyan had truly been using him as a convenient sparring partner in his boredom or he was even more off his game than usual. It was probably a mixture of both. This time she was carrying a first aid kit instead of a tray of food and, this time, Vegeta was awake. He was stepping out of the bathroom holding a damp towel against his side when she walked in.

"What are you doing here, woman?" he snapped.

"Your powers of observation must be slipping," Bulma said, holding up the kit she had brought. She went to the bed and upended the box, sorting through the supplies. When she looked back she saw that he had yet to move. "You know damn well I'm not going to leave until I see that side of yours. The sooner you get over here, the sooner I can get back to work. Believe me when I say that's something we both want."

"No arguments there," he said in agreement and went over to sit on the bed. He lifted his arm and pulled away the towel and she hissed in breath at the sight. His entire right side was one gigantic swollen purple bruise. There was a tear in the skin between two ribs and was still trickling a small amount of blood.

She betrayed a grimace at the sight. "Vegeta, you need to go to the infirmary."

"Just tape it up here. There's nothing more anyone can do. It'll heal on its own."

"You might have internal injuries."

"I do," he amazed her by saying in a calm voice. "I have two broken ribs, one cracked rib, and a perforated lung. Like I said, it'll heal. I've had worse."

She stared at him in disbelief, her blue eyes swimming with emotion. That worried regard only hit his own obsidian wall and was immediately deflected. She would find nothing looking into his eyes but her own reflection. "Alright," she relented. "I'm going to clean this first. It'll probably sting a little."

"Bah. Just get on with it."

He didn't flinch when she dabbed disinfectant directly into the nasty cut and, assured by his restraint, allowed herself to inspect it thoroughly as she cleaned it. The flesh wound was small, but it was very deep. She spared his face a glance and found that he was staring vacantly at the far wall, his eyes distant and unfocused. He appeared to have gone into a self-disciplined trance to escape the pain of her ministrations.

She was grateful for his control. When the nurse in the infirmary had reset Yamcha's nose, he had bawled like a baby. Bulma supposed she couldn't blame him, but it sure hadn't impressed her. While she applied a thick bandage to Vegeta's side and taped it in place, she couldn't help but notice the lack of body hair on the Saiyan's muscular torso. It was the same with Goku, who was utterly hairless from the eyelashes on down (they used to skinny-dip a fair bit when they were teenagers. Bulma used to always chide the younger man and ask him when he was finally going to hit puberty to actually grow some pubic hair). For no good reason, she found herself wondering if that was the same with Vegeta.

She selected the longest elastic bandage in the kit and wrapped it around his chest and waist, securing it in place with a pair of clips. "Finished," she announced.

He blinked and then looked at her before touching his side. "It's an adequate job," he muttered, testing the limits of the bandage. It showed no signs of slipping and was just tight enough not to be constrictive. It was a very professional dressing, not that he had any intention of admitting that to _her_. He had the distinct impression that her ego was already big enough as it was.

"Aw gee, thanks for the praise." She looked at him for a moment before dabbing some antiseptic on a cotton ball and raising it to his face.

He flinched away from her in annoyance. "What are you doing?"

"You have a scratch above your left eye. While I'm here I might as well clean that, too.”

He thought it over and finally relented with one brisk nod. A muscle in his jaw jumped nervously when he felt her hands on his face gently wiping at the small cut and finding several others, tending to them as well. Sensing his tension, Bulma teased, "You really don't like women getting up close and personal, do you?"

"Truth be told I'd sooner use my hand. My fingers don’t have much of a repertoire, but at least they're quiet."

She released a frustrated huff of air. "I wasn't talking about sex."

"Really? Then what good are women for?"

She drew back, prepared to swat him and caught a flicker of amusement cross his face. With something like amazement, she realized he was actually joking with her and betrayed an amused giggle. She couldn’t help it. Despite the misogynistic innuendo, he appeared to have a dark sense of humor when he let his guard down.

They stared at one another again and this time she could have sworn that she saw some hint of emotion in those dark depths. All it would take would be someone willing to search for it. _Am I up to that challenge?_ she wondered uneasily, staring at the hard planes of his face. _Was there a treasure worth finding in that bottomless shaft?_ For no good reason, she suddenly said, "Just so you know, Yamcha and I broke up several months ago."

He squinted at her in suspicion. "Why are you telling me that?"

"No reason. You referred to us as lovers. I just wanted you to know that we weren't anymore, that's all."

Wondering what had sparked that confession, Vegeta opened his mouth to start in with the sarcasm but, mercifully, broke off coughing instead. Bulma stood helplessly off to the side as he struggled to get his breath. She offered him a Kleenex to wipe his mouth and her worry was back when she saw the flecks of blood on it after he had pulled it away. "I want you to lie down and try to get some rest. I mean it, Vegeta. No fighting, no training-"

"You do _not_ give orders to the Prince of Saiyans, woman," he growled. He rose to his feet, clenching his teeth as his side rebelled to the movement. The pair faced off; raven eyes glaring at blue ones, neither side budging an inch.

 _It’s the simulator explosion all over again_ , she thought with a sigh. If she continued to push, he would push back for no better reason than to show that he could. Of the two, she dropped her eyes first. “Fine,” was all she said in response.

He betrayed a rare expression of surprise, having expected a fight. Not this sudden surrender. It visibly caught him off guard. He observed her curiously as she gathered the scattered medical supplies and returned them to the kit.

As she got ready to leave, she noticed the tray of food she had brought last night was still on the nightstand, untouched. "Why didn't you eat what I brought you?"

He frowned at the meal. "That was you? I didn't know where it came from, so I didn't touch it."

She shook her head. "Can't you trust anyone?"

His face was as hard as she had ever seen it when he told her, “I’ve been poisoned before. It's not something I want to go through ever again."

She opened her mouth to respond but found there was nothing she could say in response to that harsh confession. "If I bring you up a meal later, will you eat it?"

He eyed her closely, perhaps looking for any sign of threat or deception he had become so used to confronting on all of his travels. There was only sincerity in Bulma's open, trusting face and certainly no hint of any underlining motive. He wasn't sure how to react to that and looked away in irritation. “Maybe,” he muttered. “If... I’m still here.”

 _Where could you possibly go?_ she wanted to ask but knew the answer as much as he did.  
  
Nowhere.

 

* * *

 

With the idea of an innocent swim pretty much beaten out of him, Yamcha limped upstairs after he had gotten some rest in the infirmary. His intention was to scrounge something to eat before he went home. Pickings were pretty slim back there. He missed the days when he had lived in the huge building enjoying the charity of Bulma's parents and the perks that came with their vast wealth. It was his own damn fault he wasn’t here anymore. His personal perspective had completely changed when he was wished back from death. Suddenly, the building seemed claustrophobic and he realized that he was bothered by the fact that Bulma was the only woman he had ever been intimate with. He needed more and he found it. It was inevitable that Bulma would have found out about his infidelity. After a day-long squabble, their break-up had been final. It didn’t have the devastating impact on her that he privately would have hoped. She apparently had made piece with her grief during her exploits on Namek and had reached a similar conclusion about her own life. She didn't want to be tied down with a relationship either. At least, Yamcha was beginning to suspect, not with _him..._

In the infirmary he was caught off guard by her anger and her lack of sympathy to his injuries. Before, she had always fussed over him and cried her eyes out. He was at a loss to understand her change in attitude until she snapped, "Didn't you realize that Vegeta was only baiting you? What the hell were you thinking?"

 _Vegeta?_ His stunned mind was whirling at the indignation in her voice aimed solely at him. He had suspected more than just the concern of a hostess on that day in August when the bastard had crash-landed his spacecraft in the backyard. There had been a way she had been looking at Vegeta that he recognized. Once upon a time, Bulma had looked at _him_ that same way; curious, mischievous... turned on.

 _Was it possible?_ he wondered.

There were voices in the kitchen and he lingered outside of the door, ears straining for any shred of information that might help to avert his suspicions.

Paur was floating along beside him and cocked her head at his odd behavior. “Yam-?”

“Shh!” He grabbed her and made the gesture of cupping his hand to his ear. She offered him a hesitant nod, privately wondering if Vegeta had maybe knocked something loose.

"Poisoned? Are you serious?" Mrs. Briefs asked shrilly on the other side of the door, making them both jump in surprise.

"I'm very serious and so was he," Bulma responded. "I guess I'm not surprised. His race was... not liked very much in the galaxy. Prejudice was something he had to deal with all the time. Being the last of his kind, I don't imagine he's had it very easy."

There was the sound of a retrained sob from Bulma's mother at the news. That woman could summon tears at the drop of a hat. "Oh! That poor man. I'm sooo glad that you invited him to stay here, Bulma. He needs someone to look out for him. Was he badly hurt in the fight?"

 _They're not talking about me,_ Yamcha realized with acute bitterness. _But I know who it is that they are._

"The injury originally happened in the simulator yesterday, that's why I disabled it. Unfortunately, he went and picked a fight with Yamcha out of boredom and that idiot obliged him. Now he has two broken ribs and a pierced lung. The internal bleeding really bothers me, but he doesn't seem to be worried about it."

"Bulma! He needs to be in the infirmary!" Mrs. Briefs was practically wailing in her grief.

"I know, I know, but he's stubborn as a mule. I think he’ll take it easy tonight. The fight took more out of him then he’d ever admit. He even cracked a joke, though it was rather crude..." She giggled lightly and, outside of the door, Yamcha felt a shiver run up his spine. He knew that amused sound intimately and resented he was no longer the recipient of it.

Also recognizing that chuckle, Mrs. Briefs said quickly, "I don't want to hear it."

"Anyway, I'm going to bring a meal up to him. He hasn't eaten since early yesterday and if there's anything I know about Saiyans it's that food is just as important to them as fighting."

Bulma's mother tittered in agreement.

They began discussing sandwich options when Yamcha pulled himself away from the door and prowled for the nearest exit. All of a sudden, he wanted very badly to get out of this damned house.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Briefs returned home late that evening and his first stop was the gravity simulator, finding it deserted. He'd had a very long day and wanted nothing more than to retire for the evening, but he still had company business to finish. He walked into the family's section of the building and found Bulma alone in the living room sprawled out on the couch with a laptop on her stomach. She was somehow able to type nonstop into the computer while she watched a television program at the same time. His heart swelled with love and affection for her.

"Hi, dad. How'd the meeting go?" she asked when he came up beside her and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"Better than I could have hoped. That communication chip is going to be received with open arms."

She betrayed a frustrated huff. "If we ever get the blasted thing to work.”

"What do you mean?"

Blushing for no reason that he could fathom, Bulma confessed, "I hit a wall on the specs this afternoon. It kills me to admit it, but I can't seem to simplify the computations enough for the database to recognize the code. Then again, given the day I had, maybe tomorrow after a good night’s sleep I’ll have better luck."

"What happened today?" He noticed that she appeared unusually stressed and eyed her with growing concern.

Reluctantly, she told him of what had happened to Vegeta in the simulator and his injuries following today’s conflict with Yamcha. "I checked in on him an hour ago and he's sleeping. He doesn't seem to have a fever or anything. As hard as it is for me to believe, I think he's going to be okay."

Dr. Briefs was looking up at the balcony to the third floor. "Well, thank heaven for that. And Yamcha?"

"Broken nose. Wounded ego," she said with a verbal shrug.

Not truly understanding the circumstances of the young couple's breakup, Dr. Briefs decided to let things go without offering any comment. He was a bit of an eccentric at heart; giving his only daughter a degree of freedom and independence that almost bordered on neglect. He had always allowed her to make her own choices in the direction of her life without any interference. He had absolutely no clue that he was about to discover in the very near future how his lack of concern would affect him personally and with dire consequences.

"Don't worry about the designs. We'll puzzle it out together tomorrow," he assured her and decided to go to bed.

Bulma nodded absently and went back to watching her show while her fingers flew over the keyboard, seemingly of their own volition.

Deliberately setting her alarm an hour early, Bulma went down to the lab before anybody else showed up so she could take a fresh approach to the schematics. It really bothered her that she was - so far - unable to make sense of the scrawled data written on the last page. That segment of the decagon design was the final piece of the puzzle that made the entire working model functional. Without some sort of cipher, she couldn’t translate the text. For Bulma, technical devices were her passion and this impasse was secretly driving her batshit crazy.

She entered the downstairs of the headquarters building where the R&D division was located and went straight to her office. She glanced at her desk and was horrified to see that the blueprints were missing. Choking back what she hoped was needless alarm, she left the room and began to do a frantic search of the various labs. As she neared the section where her father's office resided, she was surprised to see that the lights were on in the room and she could hear his voice.

"-Has to be simplified so that we can translate it to source code. You see the problem."

Letting out a pent-up breath of sheer relief, Bulma smiled, understanding that great minds really did think alike. Her father had been unable to let the matter rest and had also come down to work early. She could see through a gap in the drawn blinds that the older man was doing his theatrical pacing as he explained the problems. Doing an astonished double take, she saw that he wasn't alone and there was only one person on Earth with that hairstyle. And he wasn't a native.

Vegeta was examining the page of the schematic that had everyone so confused. He picked up a pen and said to Dr. Briefs, "If I alter the code key will that simplify things?"

Bulma's knees threatened to buckle and spill her into the corridor as realization set in.

"That might work," Dr. Briefs said in a thoughtful tone of voice. "Once that’s entered, it just may translate all of the computations previously added into our database over to workable code."

"Idiots. You're all idiots," Vegeta muttered as he flipped the page over and began to quickly scrawl out mathematical data. "I've simplified these plans so many times that I doubt the damn thing will even work as it was intended."

"I'll just be happy to see it work at all."

"Humans. The next thing I’ll design for you will be a better toilet! Maybe _that_ you'll under-"

"It was _you?!"_ Bulma screeched as she threw open the door. "You're the designer of this chip we've all been slaving over?"

"Shit," the Saiyan grumbled and cast a cold glare at the older man. He threw the pen to the floor and pushed Bulma aside as he made a hasty retreat.

"Wait one damned minute, Vegeta!" she yelled after him. "You've got some explaining to do! Why are-?!"

He flicked a finger in her direction and a small ki blast exploded directly in front of her feet and blew out a section of the floor. He flashed her a look of pure warning before rounding the corner to leave the building. By the time Bulma shoved open the doors to look outside, he was long gone.

When she returned to her father’s office, she found him sitting on the edge of the desk like a little boy who had been caught doing something wrong. "I wish you could have waited until he finished writing down the information," he said morosely.

"Dad, what's going on? Did Vegeta really draw those schematics?"

"Yes, Bulma. He did."

Wounded, she asked, "Why all the secrecy? Why did you lie and say it was-"

"It wasn't my idea," he assured her. "It was part of the arrangement."

"’Arrangement’? What are you talking about?"

"Have you had your morning coffee yet?" he cut in as he led her out of the room. "Because I haven't and could really use one right about now."

Not long after filling their mugs, Bulma and her father went to the main lab where they began to talk. At first, all she wanted to do was ask questions that had very little to do with what had just happened in the office and were more of an attempt to sooth her wounded ego. She finally shut up long enough to let him explain.

"I saw his potential when he gave me the designs for the training drones he now uses in the simulator," he began.

"Those weren't yours?"

He shook his head. "Vegeta apparently used them in training exercises when he was a small boy. He took one apart out of boredom. Bulma, that was over twenty years ago and yet the blueprints he drew for me were exact right down to the measurements. I'd never seen anything quite like that before. I asked him if he had any other designs committed to memory."

When her father paused, Bulma offered, "I'm betting he did."

He gave a quick nod. "That communications chip is only the tip of the iceberg. He examined every piece of technology that his employer took from other worlds. It was just a thing to do between missions, little more than a hobby, and that's part of the current problem."

"I don't get it. What could possibly be wrong with such a wonderful gift?"

"Like I said, this is information he gathered while working for that Frieza fellow. He can't even say that creature's name without sputtering. To make matters worse, being a prince, he considers the act of creating these designs to be a lowly occupation that's beneath him. He didn't want you or anyone else to know that he's working for me, Bulma. This is how we arranged for him to have some finances here on Earth, but he's terribly ashamed."

"Him and his damned pride," she muttered. She got to her feet and wandered over to the table and its accumulation of papers that she, and everyone else in the lab, had been buzzing over for the past week. Her terse exchange with Vegeta in the corridor the other day came back to haunt her and her cheeks burned with shame. The Saiyan had arrived at Capsule Corp. owning nothing more than his ruined armor. She should have realized that he would never willingly accept the handouts the Briefs family were offering him without paying a price.

 _You surprised me again,_ she thought, but she was smiling when she looked up at her father. He didn't return the look. Part of it was probably the thought of losing the Saiyan's cooperation, but it wasn't all. "I promise I won't tell anybody about this. I'll never understand the secrecy but at least I can respect it."

"It's not me you should be reassuring," he said.

"I'll go track him down." She started to turn to the door, but he called her back.

"No, Bulma. Let him be. I feel bad enough that I woke him. Give him a chance to calm down before you talk to him. He's hot-tempered, that one."

 _You don't know the half of it,_ she thought privately, but she could see his point. "Okay, dad. You're right. I'll give him his space."

Dr. Briefs offered her a look of clear relief. At the time, neither realized her decision was a crucial mistake.


	4. Wounded Pride

 

Vegeta left the headquarters building for parts unknown and seemingly disappeared.   
  
Bulma kept track of his absence by the untouched food in the fridge and the tension in both of her parents as the days moved closer to a week. Covertly, she went to her computer and called up various satellite images of the more remote sections of Earth and ran them with comparisons taken from a week before. It wasn't long before she saw a pattern restricted to one specific area and she printed off the coordinates.

Her mother caught up to her in the kitchen as she was filling up a backpack with bottles of water and some food. The two met eyes for a moment until the blond handed her that all too familiar medical kit. "Bring him home, Bulma."

"I plan to," Bulma reassured her and went to the Capsule Corp. hoverjet to begin her search.

Thirty nautical miles off the coast of Australia, Bulma homed in on the last surviving island of an archipelago that had previously consisted of over twenty small landmasses. She could see the submerged craters clearly from the air. It looked like the area had been bombarded by meteorites. Knowing the true cause of all that needless destruction, her hands became clammy when she landed on what was left of the main island. All of the vegetation was scrubbed clean and its surface was pox-marked by even more craters, one as big across as quarter of a mile. They were slowly filling with seawater as the ravaged island was being inexorably put out of its misery and reclaimed by the ocean.

She found Vegeta sitting at the edge of the largest one, staring down into the crater's depths. He was still wearing the remains of the clothes he'd worn that disastrous morning in her father's office. They hadn't held up to the onslaught like his traditional Saiyan armor and what was left were little more than rags.

"Vegeta?" she called to him in a hesitant voice but got no answer. Keeping a wary distance, she kneeled several feet away and examined him as best she could. Her eyes went first to his injured side. Through the tattered shirt, she could make out a vague discoloration but that was about all. No indication of swelling or infection and that was good. At this point, it was about the only thing that gave her any comfort.

"You've come to retrieve your pet Saiyan, I see," he finally spoke up after about five minutes of silence. His voice was painfully hoarse and when he swung his head around to stare at her she could see bruised half-moons of exhaustion and dehydration beneath his eyes.

"I've come to bring you home."

"'Home’," he barked and shook his head with amusement. "Hah. That's a laugh. You've come to collect your investment."

"Capsule Corp. was a thriving company long before you ever showed up," she assured him, keeping the anger out of her voice. "That's not why I'm here. I... we’re worried about you."

"Mind your own business for a change. I'm fine," he snapped back.

She rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a bottle of water and tried to hand it to him. He slapped it away and sent it rolling down the side of the crater. His teeth were bared when he snarled at her, "I don't want anything from you. Go away, woman."

Swallowing, she backed away without argument and returned to the air-conditioned interior of the hoverjet wondering what she should do next. It was highly likely that the agitated Saiyan was bordering on heatstroke and possibly even delirium. Unfortunately, even in his weakened state he was still far stronger of the two. She was at a complete loss as to how to deal with the situation.

At midday, the temperature rose to well over forty degrees Celsius and Vegeta didn't budge from his spot. Bulma was debating whether to make another attempt to reason with him when a seagull flew overhead and began squalling at him. Vegeta fired two ki blasts at the bird, missing both times, but a third shot incinerated the persistent creature into a ball of charred feathers. Choosing the better part of self-preservation, Bulma stayed where she was.

Near dusk, storm clouds moved in and rain washed over the area, obscuring her view of him. She pulled out an umbrella and left the jet to try and offer some shelter. This time, when she came in close to him, he didn't object. There were blisters on his shoulders and his face was flushed and shiny from his exposure. When he wearily looked over at her, his eyes were unfocused and bloodshot.

"Vegeta, if you stay here for one more day you're going to die," she told him in a soft voice.

"It would be for the best," he whispered and finally succumbed to his exhaustion as he slipped into a dark faint.

Rather than try to transport him back to Capsule Corp. right away, Bulma erected a tent near the crater and dragged the unresponsive Saiyan into it, focused on trying to get him to cool down. He had chills, a fever, and his pulse was racing; all of signs of advanced heatstroke. She had to work quickly. She ended up pulling him back out into the rain where the torrent would cool down his skin. By the time the deluge began to taper off, he began to show signs of coming around. Soaked to the bone herself, she managed to get him to drink a little water and, while he was still damp, wrestled him into the hoverjet where the air-conditioner would continue to cool down his raging body temperature.

Moving him was easier then she thought it would be. He had lost weight during his weeklong rampage and, combined with his extreme dehydration, they were probably close to the same weight now. It wasn't an observation that gave her any reassurance. Her apprehension intensified when she watched him struggle with an onslaught of muscle cramps. He reached out blindly and his hand closed around one of the door handles and crumpled it to pieces as he was seized with a spasm. After that he curled into a contorted, agonized ball. Feeling utterly helpless, Bulma decided to return home as quickly as she could so that the infirmary at the headquarters building could help him.

About an hour from home, she heard movement in the backseat and craned her head around to see Vegeta beginning to stir. Setting the console to autopilot, she went into the back to check on him. His eyes fluttered before focusing on her with difficulty. He began to tense up with rising panic when he looked around the unfamiliar surroundings.

She snapped her fingers to get his attention and said, "Take it easy. You're in my hoverjet."

He stared shivering uncontrollably and hugged himself. "Why is it so damned _c-cold?"_

She touched his forehead and could feel that his fever had broken. Relieved, she turned down the air conditioner and offered him a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders as she helped him sit up. Taking advantage of his apparent confusion, she handed him a bottle and was grateful when he began to greedily gulp down the contents. She pulled it away from him, "Not too much or you'll get sick. Drink it slow. How much do you remember?"

He savored the refreshing liquid as he slowly collected his thoughts. Finally, he said, "I seem to remember blasting some bird to atoms." A smile crossed his haggard features before he squinted at her. "You were there."

"I showed up early yesterday. It was last night before you would let me get close to you. You were... very upset."

He grunted and ran a hand back and forth through his lank hair. "Everything's muddled. How did you find me?"

"Your Saiyan temper tantrum was caught on satellite. I just homed in on what was left of that beautiful archipelago you destroyed."

"It was uninhabited," he countered.

"Yes, but-"

"Then drop it. There’s nothing for you to bitch about."

She considered how he started going on the defensive the instant her voice reached a certain pitch. The two of them were so similar in temperament that they antagonized one another without even being aware of it. Changing the subject, she admitted, "You had me worried there for awhile, Vegeta. You were pretty out of it."

He touched one of the blisters on his left shoulder and winced. "I'd give my left nut for a regeneration chamber right about now."

"Draw up the designs for my father, maybe he can build you one," she teased and saw the cloud pass over his face at the reminder. "I won't tell anybody what you're doing for the company. I promise. It's no one else's business."

"It's not just that," he grumbled. "Every time I pick up a drafting pen, I swear I can hear my father screaming his disapproval. You said so yourself; I'm the prince of an extinct race. Now I'm reduced to the occupation of a common scribe. It's completely humiliating."

"Vegeta, it's a wonderful gift. You shouldn't feel any shame for doing it."

He didn't answer right away, glowering out of the window at the unfamiliar landscape. The sight only further intensified his feeling of isolation and he forced his eyes away with difficulty. "Some 'gift’. I don't even comprehend what I'm drawing on the paper. Frieza used to call Saiyans 'domesticated monkeys' and when it comes to technology that's just what we are... _were_." His voice dropped to a raspy whisper when he corrected himself.

Bulma decided that she didn't like this haunted side to him one little bit. "You made corrections to the communications chip. I heard you."

"Simple mathematics."

"You still improvised on the design, don't you see that?"

"The subject is closed," he announced in a sudden hard tone. He fixed her with a deliberate glare to ensure she understood. 

The only problem was that she didn’t. Desperately, she tried again. "I'm sorry that I walked in you and my father-"

Waving her words away, he upended the bottle and finished the water. The leading edge of the city was coming into view on the horizon and the hoverjet began its decent. The anger on his face deepened at the mere sight of civilization. "I wish I'd never heard of those fucking Dragonballs," he hissed under his breath.

Bulma wanted to continue to try and reason with him, but the autopilot began beeping and she had no choice but to return to the pilot's chair. She tried to talk to him while she entered the coordinates for home, but he had lapsed into sullen silence as he watched the Capital pass by below them. The hatred and resentment in his face increased the closer they got to the headquarters building.

When she landed in the compound, the old Vegeta returned with a vengeance. He threw the blanket aside and opened the door, refusing her attempts to help him even though he almost fell when he stepped out of the hoverjet. Her parents were waiting by the door of the main building as well as one skittish nurse. Vegeta locked eyes with Bulma as she moved in to assist and she saw that burning sense of pride in those black depths as well as an urgent entreaty. She stepped back without a word and let him enter the building unaided.

He made it as far as the infirmary before collapsing.

 

* * *

 

For the next two days, he was in a sleep so deep it was almost a coma and Bulma was never far from his side. The nurse had hooked up an I.V. to provide intravenous replacement fluids and his depleted system drained the bags at an alarming rate. Watching him as he struggled with some nightmare, she gently wrung out a wash cloth in a basin of cold water and wiped away the moisture from his brow. Her parents looked in him from time to time and the relief in their faces was plainly evident when they smiled at her. What would have happened if she hadn't tracked him down? He had stubbornly remained on that island even while the sun had been sucking the life out of him, too lost in his own self-pity to bother protecting himself. One more day, perhaps two, and he would have passed out. He could have died.

 _'It would be for the best’_ , his words drifted past her, making her shudder involuntarily. She was startled to find herself on the brink of tears at the thought of losing the brash Saiyan and realized then and there that she was starting to fall in love with him.

"Son of a bitch," she whispered. She stared down at his sleeping form and tried to grapple with her emotions.

That evening she managed to grab several hours of fretful sleep and, on the morning of the third day, went to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before returning to her bedside vigil. The minute she opened the fridge, all of the last vestiges of sleep dissipated and she threw her head back in relieved laughter. It was completely cleaned out; an entire loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, half of a turkey, leftover potato salad, and several Danishes, not to mention every liquid on the bottom shelf except for that annoying last gulp of orange juice. The infamous fridge burglar had made his return.

She ran back upstairs and checked Vegeta’s room. There were a couple of changes of clothes on the bed, clear indication that he had come and gone. Acting on a hunch, she found him in the Research and Development lab finishing up on the data he had started in her father’s office a week before. He visibly squared his shoulders when she walked in, but nothing more than that. He was wearing a loose pair of pants and an open-throat shirt and she could see the hint of bandages that covered the most severe of the burns beneath the fabric. If he had been olive-skinned before, now he was absolutely swarthy from his prolonged sun exposure further adding to his rugged appeal.

"Dad's going to do a back flip when he sees this," she said, coming up beside him when he had finished.

Vegeta grunted his response, eyeing her warily as she picked up the blueprint and studied what he had written. "You know, this won't take me long to enter into the database. Are you in a rush to continue your training or are you willing to hang around while I type this in?"

He shrugged and, encouraged, Bulma led him into her office and offered him a chair. He leaned back, folded his arms and watched her fingers fly over the keyboard. She should have felt self-consciousness with him looking over her shoulder, but it appeared as if the period of awkwardness between them was finally over. His proximity felt very right to her at that moment and she realized that she could smell the soap he had used from his recent shower. Looking at their reflection in the monitor, she caught him staring at her before focusing his attention back on the data on the screen. It had been more than just a brief glance and she shifted her weight in rising excitement.

A short time later, she finished entering what he had written. "I'm going to enter the modified code to the rest of the main file. Cross your fingers. I hope this works."

"If it doesn't, it's not my fault," he told her.

"Always the tough guy," she muttered as she punched in the final key and then sat back holding her breath in anticipation.

On the monitor, a three-dimensional representation of the alien chip began to combine each side layer by layer until all ten angles formed a perfect decagon. It revolved to various perspectives as the company server evaluated its potential. All of a sudden, the printer came to life and began to spit out sheets of theoretical data from the successful model.

"It works!" Bulma shrieked, jumping to her feet. She threw her arms around Vegeta and gave him a kiss directly on the cheek. He recoiled away from her in shock and fell off the chair and she landed directly on top of him. Their faces were barely an inch apart as they stared at one another in astonishment.

Vegeta swallowed and gazed wonderingly into her face. "...Bulma."

She blinked down at him and realized, "That's the first time you've ever said my name."

He had never noticed just how dazzling her eyes were before this moment. He could feel a part of himself becoming lost in those azure depths and was powerless to stop it. Hesitantly, he reached up and touched that odd colored hair. She was about to take advantage of his indecision and kiss him again when there was a subtle clearing of a throat by the door that shattered the moment. Dr. Briefs and several members of the morning staff were standing at the entrance trying not to look too obvious while they watched the show.

"Oh," Bulma and Vegeta echoed together. She realized she was sitting astride him, straddling his hips while he was looking at the crowd upside-down. If this wasn't a Kodak moment, nothing was. She quickly climbed off him, pulling her skirt down over her hips and apologizing profusely. Vegeta looked like a trapped animal as the staff had cut off his only route of escape. He was blushing so deeply that his sunburned cheeks were actually purple.

Eager to explain the reason they were celebrating, she announced, "We’ve just finished entering the corrected code into the company database. The chip works! Check it out!"

"Really?" Dr. Briefs walked over to the monitor. He immediately broke out into a broad grin and walked over to the Saiyan who was edging his way towards the exit, trying not to be too obvious about it. He actually cringed when the older man advanced on him.

Dr. Briefs extended his hand. "Well done, son. Very well done, indeed! Congratulations are in order."

 _Son?_ It was a word completely alien to Vegeta's experience and he was dumbfounded to hear it. Seeing his confusion, Dr. Briefs seized his hand and enthusiastically pumped it up and down. When the rest of the staff closed in to offer their own praise, the Saiyan’s nerve finally broke and he made a quick retreat, practically running down the hallway to get away from them.

Arching an eyebrow of amusement in his daughter's direction, Dr. Briefs fingered his mustache as he offered her a knowing smile.

Self-consciously smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes, Bulma smiled shyly back.

 


	5. Civil Repartee

Practically before the sun had begun its inexorable ascent of the new day, Vegeta was in the courtyard of the Capsule Corporation lot stretching his limbs before beginning his morning jog. He didn't normally bother with such nonsense, but his muscles were aching from the torture he'd put his system through the day before. He figured wasting a few minutes warming-up might not be such a bad idea before he seriously pulled already strained muscles.

Following that embarrassing scene in the lab early yesterday morning, Vegeta had fled to the gravity simulator to cope with his humiliation and arousal. He had witlessly set it to the extreme limits he had been used to, not realizing just how much his little island misadventure had weakened him. He had set it to three hundred like he always did, hoping that Bulma had found time to fix it, and pressed the engage switch.

He promptly crashed face-first into the floor where he remained pinned like a bug for the better part of the day.

He finally managed to crawl to the console and turn the damn thing off but by then the damage was done: He had strained every single muscle in his body. It didn't ease his frustration to acknowledge the fact that he was now reduced to the same level he had originally started; losing well over a month of precious acclimation to the simulator and now having to start all over again basically from scratch.

_And all because of that damned woman!_

He still had no explanation for his over-reaction to her finding out that he was working for her father. None of it made any sense. For some reason he just found her knowledge of his secret to be completely unbearable. He really didn't know what was worse: To be pushed over the brink of sanity worrying about what the stupid woman must think of him or having her track him down and bring him back like some lost mongrel. Either scenario was dreadful and both had happened and now he had to grapple with what had happened between them.

Without meaning to, he absently touched his left cheek; the one she had kissed in her excitement. Her lips had seemed like a brand on his over-heated flesh. He wouldn't have been surprised to look in a mirror and see that mark etched there in stark relief. The vision of her deep blue eyes only mere inches from his own haunted his dreams last night, making him wake up in sweaty frustration. There had yet to be night since he had spent on this backwater planet where he'd had a proper night's sleep and his nerves were beginning to wear down from the strain. He was dismayed to find his emotional defenses were also in tatters against this woman who appeared completely oblivious of her effect on him. This was a situation he had no experience to handle. He would have to be on his guard against her. He was accustomed to taking what he wanted and leaving with his cohorts without the concept of a conscience. Murder, rape, theft, chaos; they had all been the same to him, a diversion to his own madness, but for some reason everything had changed.

 _He_ had changed.

"Not for the better," he muttered as he finished with his exercises and figured he was as ready as he ever would be. "It can't possibly be for the better."

"Talking to yourself," remarked a distinctly feminine voice from behind him. "That can't be a good sign, Vegeta."

He froze in place and then glowered over one shoulder as Bulma approached with that damnable mocking smile on her face. She was wearing a tight spandex tank top and a pair of shorts and… his eyes never got any further as they crawled over the top again. "What are you doing here, woman?" he asked gruffly.

She caught sight of one bruised cheek. "What happened to you?"

"I'm having a shitty month. You didn't answer my question."

"I'm taking you up on your offer."

"... My offer?"

"Remember? Outside of the lab in the corridor? You invited me to join you for a morning jog. You said I could use the exercise, so here I am."

"I said that over a week ago!"

"And like I said, 'here I am'," Bulma said smugly. "Are we going to talk the morning away or hit the trail?"

"Fine!” he huffed. “Try to keep up if you think you can. I'm not going to slow down for you."

"I didn't expect you would."

With a growl, Vegeta started his jog out of the courtyard while Bulma kept even pace with him, still smiling that knowing little grin. He debated breaking into a desperate sprint to be rid of her but, his eye had begun to track the pendulous rise and fall of her generous chest as she kept in step beside him. He decided that maybe, just maybe, the view might be worth the price of putting up with her.

Bulma's private amusement increased as their jog took them into the city's main park and he still showed no sign of abandoning her. She had deliberately bought her top one size smaller than what she usually wore just for this intended reason. It wasn't comfortable but, against the Saiyan's arrogance, a girl had to use what tactics she could.

It was surprising how many other people were in the park running the trails despite the obvious early hour. She realized that Vegeta must keep to the same paths as several other jogging enthusiasts offered a wave at him as he passed by, a common greeting among kindred spirits. The Saiyan merely offered an acknowledging nod if anything at all. It depended on the gender of the greeter.

Despite the fact that Bulma considered herself in reasonably good shape, she knew she was going to have to call a time-out to rest for a minute, whether it ended their companionable session or not. She barely had opened her mouth when another woman came up on the other side of him.

"Morning, Vegeta. Haven't seen you around in awhile," the woman said pleasantly. She was a full head taller and her chest (obviously implants, Bulma noted with acidic jealousy) was at his eye level. Submerging a smile, Vegeta mused that his impression of the day was improving by the minute.

"I've been busy," he said.

"Yeah, I can see that," the woman remarked, eyeing his bruised face and sunburned arms. "You look like hell. Who's your friend?"

"My name's Bulma. Bulma Briefs," she said, relieved to be included in this enigmatic exchange.

The woman eyed her carefully. She was a beautiful brunette whose dark skin and eyes almost rivaled Vegeta's. "Briefs...of the Capsule Corporation empire?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it an-"

"Now I know why you've been turning me down," the woman said as she turned back to him, rudely excusing Bulma who began to fume on the sidelines. "I can't compete with that. Let me know when you want something... more exotic."

"I won't," he said and the woman shot him a sour glance and then pulled ahead of them.

"What a bitch!" Bulma hissed, not even waiting until she was out of earshot. "Who was she?"

Vegeta's patented smirk was back, it had been shelved for quite some time. "Don't know. Don't care."

"She sure seemed to know you."

"Once in awhile she joins me on my run. If she wasn't so stacked I'd jog somewhere else."

"Gosh, she sure looks familiar," Bulma said more to herself.

"She said she does movies. I think that was supposed to impress me for some reason," he told her in a bored tone of voice.

The name finally came to the face and she stumbled in her shock, nearly falling down. "Ohmigod! That was Dorothy Pereaux!"

"So?" Vegeta asked in irritation. He wanted to get on with the run and do away with this useless chatter.

"She's a movie star! Yamcha and I saw a film of hers not too long ago. I-I don't believe it. I have to sit down." She staggered over to the nearest bench and sat bent over, trying to get her breath back.

Vegeta kept running until he discovered he was alone and reluctantly walked back. "What's the damn problem?"

"Don’t you don’t get it? She’s famous!" It unnerved her that all of this time on Vegeta's jogs he was keeping company with the likes of the famous actress while Bulma thought he was off alienating everyone in the city. "I mean, she's a beautiful movie star -"

"Hn. The slut is all artificial. She's got nothing on you," he remarked.

"The thought of her-" Bulma gave him an astonished double-take as his terse statement sank in. "... What did you just say?"

Realizing he had just given her a compliment, Vegeta cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "Are we going to continue our run or not?"

"I think I'm done in, Vegeta. Now, about what you said-"

"I knew you were out of shape," he cut her off and resumed his run without her.

Bulma let him go, too winded to try and stop him and force him to repeat what he had said. She'd heard enough to bring a smile to her sweaty features. When her legs stopped shaking, she slowly walked back home feeling tired but relieved that she had made the effort this morning to join him.

When she entered the Capsule Corp. compound she saw Yamcha cleaning out one of the storage capsules. Paur caught sight of her first and started to trill in excitement and she had no choice but to wander over. When he stepped outside and saw her, his eyes bulged and Bulma had never wished for a jacket to cover herself up so much in her life.

"Where were you?" he asked, not bothering with the usual formalities.

"I went jogging with Vegeta."

Yamcha gaped at her. "Wearing _that?_ " He could remember the odd time when he had managed to coax her to come along on one of his own jogs. She had worn baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt several sizes too big for her that had hung practically down to her knees. He was unable to pull his eyes away from her strutted nipples clearly visible against the straining fabric.

She crossed her arms self-consciously across her chest. "I didn't receive any complaints," she said aloofly. “Quite the opposite actually.”

"I'm surprised the little jerk noticed," he said, wounded by her attitude. "I figured he was a closet case."

"You can shelve that theory. He's definitely not."

Yamcha's face darkened as he waited for a further explanation and didn't get one. That smug look of accomplishment on her face was like a kick to the groin to him. He considered himself a great catch, physically and mentally, and all of a sudden here was some ridiculous-looking alien intruding on his turf and turning the tables. His deep rage grew.

"What are you doing?" she asked lightly, knowing she had hit a nerve and relishing in it.

"Your father asked me to make some room in this storage capsule. I'm doing it as a favor, but I don't know why he doesn't ask Vegeta to do it. All that runt does is freeload and you all just seem to put up with it."

"Don't you worry about it. Vegeta earns his keep," Bulma said with a grin adding a suggestive wink. Deliberately puffing out her ample bosom, she gave him a wave and walked away. Behind her, Yamcha muttered a stream of oaths and went back to work. He was through being patient and she heard glass shatter inside the capsule, immediately followed by outraged curses.

 

* * *

The morning jog became something of a routine between the two that Bulma actually began to look forward to, even though she would be the first to admit that she was far from a morning person. Some days, Vegeta would tolerate her attempts at conversation and on others he would bluntly tell her to shut up. She was never sure if he liked her tagging along or not; he never came out and told her one way or the other. Encouraged, she deliberately set her clock each and every morning to join him.

She discovered the answer to her curiosity when she woke up one morning, looked at her clock, and discovered she had overslept by over an hour. "Oh, damn!" She jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on a change of clothes and sprinted out of the building in hopes of catching up to the Saiyan in the park. Just as she reached the final storage capsule on the lot she saw Vegeta leaning beside it, looking irritated and bored.

"I missed our run!" she said with dismay. "I'm sorry. I overslept."

"I haven't started it yet," he told her.

A flattered smile crossed her face. "You were waiting for me all this time?"

"Call it what you want, woman. Let's go. I've wasted enough time on you," he said roughly and turned to start the run. Bulma was practically skipping as she fell into step beside him. She could scarcely believe that he had actually postponed his driven routine to wait for her to show. She couldn't get the smile off of her face even though his features were set in stone and just as cold when she looked at him. His aloofness didn't matter, his actions spoke louder than words.

Bulma had more than doubled her distance and endurance in her morning efforts and no longer had to call out frequent time-outs to catch her breath while he grumbled on about her mother’s insistence to buy sweets. About three kilometers into the run, the pair stopped at a vendor's cart and she chose a pretzel since she hadn't had time for breakfast. Vegeta bought a juice and paid for both items.

"Dankeschön," the cart owner said. "Habt einen guten Tag, Herr."

"Bis nächstes Mal," Vegeta responded, sipping his drink and walking away.

The pretzel was halfway to Bulma's mouth when she stared at him. "What was that? You were speaking German!"

"Was I? Radditz must have transmitted some German broadcasts to my scouter, the idiot."

"What are you talking about?" she asked as they wandered off the main path. At this later hour, the joggers were gradually being replaced by mothers pushing strollers and pulling toddlers. Vegeta resented having to pass around these slow obstacles, particularly when Bulma paused to coo at one baby or another, interfering with his stride. He couldn't understand what all of the fuss was about; the stinky little humans were even uglier than the adult ones.

To her question, he finally answered, "Radditz was the advance scout to this world. He automatically transmitted all of Earth's relevant broadcasts and scans to our own scouter database. As Nappa and I traveled to Earth, all that information was transferred to us while we were in stasis."

"That's why your English is so flawless," Bulma said in amazement. She had always wondered how the Saiyan had such an expert handle on Earth slang and profanity before he’d set foot on the planet.

"That was standard protocol to every world we ever approached. I've been downloaded with dozens of different languages during my missions. Fortunately, the new language automatically overwrites the old one or a soldier would go insane from the overload."

Chewing thoughtfully on her pretzel, she remarked, "Now that would be a handy thing to use."

"You still have the remains of Radditz's scouter. Figure it out. It's not as if he's going to be needing it." He snorted in amusement.

"Vegeta, don't you miss them? You grew up with Radditz and Nappa. You three were the last Saiyans to survive your home world's destruction, except for Goku. How do you feel now that they're gone?"

He didn't answer right away, watching the young mothers as they gathered in informal little herds while their spawn clambered over a nearby jungle gym like unruly cockroaches. If things had gone his way this city would now be a desolate crater and the Earthlings a vague memory. He would have had his mantle of immortality and ruled the universe by now. Instead, he was standing in the park drinking an apple juice like a native accompanied by a female sidekick whose father he was working for in order to make a living. _Could things have gotten any more fucked up?_

"I would have eventually killed them anyway," he told her, adding, “They were weak."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Not to you, it wouldn't. You're not a Saiyan. Don't presume to question my logic, woman."

 _He's losing his patience,_ she noted and dropped the subject before things got messy. Bringing up Vegeta's past was like stepping onto a field full of landmines without a map. Some things he talked about, other issues he avoided completely. She had just learned that Nappa and Radditz were off-limits. Finishing her breakfast, the two resumed their run through the landscaped grounds of the park.

"Vegeta, how old are you?" she finally piped up.

"Shit. Here we go again," he grumbled under his breath. He was deeply regretting the decision to wait for her to show up this morning. He vowed never to make that mistake a second time, that's for sure. With her getting in that extra hour of sleep she was too wide-awake to keep her damn mouth shut. "Kakarrot was born five years after I was."

"So, you're thirty-one."

"I guess."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Looking at her sidelong, he explained, "Time is relative. I shouldn't have to explain that to you. The space pods are faster than light and I've spent nearly a quarter of my life traveling in them."

She understood what he was driving at. "Chronologically, you're thirty-one. Physically, you're somewhere in your twenties."

"Something like that. Yeah."

"Huh. Now I'm not so sure being a year younger is a good thing or not," she confessed.

"Old. Young. It doesn't matter to me if you would just SHUT UP!" he finally shouted into her face. Several heads turned at the sound and one little girl nearby burst into noisy tears.

Bulma's face reddened and she slowed her pace. "I-I'm going to head back. I've...uh, got work to do."

"Good deal," he growled and sped up his pace to finally be rid of her. Bulma watched him go with mixed emotions, oblivious of the young mother who was trying to sooth her distressed child.

"Let him go," the woman told her. "You'll be better off."

Frowning, Bulma turned to look at her. "Excuse me?"

"That guy," she nodded after Vegeta. "I know the type. I was attracted to a bad ass myself even though my friends tried to tell me the guy was no good. I wouldn't listen. When he knocked me up, he left town. I never heard from him again."

Bulma got down at eye level to the little girl and tried to get her to smile. "Your daughter is beautiful."

"Her beauty doesn't pay the bills," the woman snapped.

The little girl cringed in acute misery at her mother’s harsh words. Bulma began to hear the distant ticking of her own biological clock when the girl raised her deep brown eyes to look up at her. Any liaison that could produce such a little beauty had to be worth any trouble. Then again, Bulma reasoned that she was obviously in a different set of circumstances than this woman and her opinion wasn't relevant. Not everyone had a family fortune and strong parental support to fall back on. The woman in front of her was obviously struggling to make ends meet.

"Trust me," the woman continued. "Get out of the relationship while you still have your sanity. And your figure. That guy is bad news."

"Thanks for the tip but I know how to look after myself," Bulma said icily.

The embittered woman picked up her daughter and shot her one cool look as she retorted, "You're too far gone. I can see I'm just wasting my breath. Just remember that I tried to warn you."

Before Bulma could come up with a sarcastic retort, the woman stalked away with what she clearly regarded as a burden and not the special little gift she truly was. The girl raised a little hand and waved good-bye and Bulma, her heart aching, returned it sadly. Those miserable pools of brown stayed with her for most of the day.

The next morning the tables were turned as Bulma found herself waiting for Vegeta to show up for their morning ritual and, after an hour, there was still no sign of him. She had blown it with her insistent questions the day before and he had abandoned her out of spite. She resented stepping on eggshells whenever she was around him and decided that all of this grief just wasn't worth it. The woman in the park was right. He was a lost cause.

Turning, she started back for home and caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of her eye coming towards her. Her heart jumped in her throat as she turned to face the man.

Yamcha was there wearing bicycle shorts, a tight muscle shirt, and a gloating little smile. "All dressed up with no one to run with, Bulma," he remarked lightly. "I'm not five feet tall and mean as hell but will I do?"

She knew she was never going to hear the end of this one, but at the very least she might see Vegeta in the park and have the opportunity to rub the alien's face into it. Giving Yamcha a hard shove, she barked, "Shut up and run."

It didn't last very long. The ex-lovers had barely reached the entrance to the park when the questions started. Bulma realized right then and there just how distracting it was to try and brood and intercept a barrage of inquiries at the same time. It was quite a revelation for her.

"He stood you up. What do you see in him, Bulma?" Yamcha asked bluntly.

"It's none of your business."

"He's not even your type."

She shot him a hard look. "Who precisely _is_ my type? You?"

"Yeah, me," he said, on the defensive. "I'm a great catch. I'm tall, have a great personality, and I know just how to treat a woman right."

"Is that a fact." She released a bitter snort. "Huh. And I thought Vegeta had the over-inflated ego."

Definitely resenting any comparison between himself and the brash Saiyan, Yamcha's face flushed in anger. He settled into a moody silence for awhile and just as Bulma's thoughts began to drift again he brought her back to reality with, "You never told them, did you?"

"Told who about what?"

"Your parents. They don't know anything about Vegeta, do they? All the horrible things he did. All the people he's killed? You lied to them."

Struggling with her indignation, she managed to say in a level voice, "I told them what was relevant: We met him on Namek and he helped us out, which was the truth. Telling them the rest wouldn't accomplish anything."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I think your parents deserve to know that they have a cold-blooded killer living in their house who could go ballistic at any time and level the damned city! Bulma, what the hell were you thinking by not warning them?"

"Oh, for God's sake! It's been over two years since he first came here and nothing's happened. Would you let it go?"

"He's just biding his time. He's evil! Don't you see that?"

"He's changed, Yamcha. When we got wished back from Namek, it was obvious that he was different-"

"I also got wished back. Eventually. Do you remember how I died? I was slaughtered because that little bastard tried to take over the Earth. Does any of this ring a bell?" He was close to shouting now in his growing rage. Heads were starting to turn and she wrestled him over to a tree to try and calm him down.

"Of course it does! I watched it all happen. I was devastated when you died, Yamcha," she said sincerely, looking up into his anguished face. "I was inconsolable. I had dreams of us getting married and having children and living happily ever after. Why else would I have risked my life to travel to Namek in the hopes of retrieving the Dragonballs and wishing you back into my life?"

His mouth worked as he struggled for words. Finally, he was able to get out, "What happened, Bulma? What changed?"

"Nothing. Everything," she confessed, looking down at her sneakers. "I went through hell on Namek. We all did. Me, Gohan, Krillin. Especially Vegeta. By the time Goku and Piccolo arrived most of the damage had already been done. We were on our own. But... at the same time I realized that spoiled little part of me finally gave away and I found my own independence. It was a real shock to be on my own and I found that I liked it."

"It doesn't explain your fascination with someone like Vegeta," he said bitterly.

"Yamcha, we've been together since were teenagers. You're a sweet guy, but when you got wished back you also changed and _not_ for the better." There was only brutal honestly in her softly spoken words, but the young fighter didn't bridle very well as he started fidgeting in place. "You wanted to play the field; party; see other women. The thought of commitment was the furthest thing from your mind. I realized that and I let you go." Bulma chewed the inside of her cheek as she looked out into the park and Yamcha knew who she was searching for. "Vegeta was tortured to death by that monster Frieza and, when he came back, he was different, too; in a good way. The cruelty got beaten out of him. I think he genuinely wants to help the Earth this time, but he doesn't know what to do or how to go about it. He needs me now, Yamcha. You don't anymore. You haven't for a very long time and that's what I do best; help people. That need, that desperation, is what attracts me to him."

Baring his teeth at her, Yamcha hissed, "You're being a love-struck idiot! He's evil and untrustworthy and you're placing the entire Western Capital in jeopardy by letting him stay here. He's going to kill you all!"

"Don't make accusations about someone you don't even know," she said, on the edge of serious anger herself. "I can understand that you're jealous, Yamcha, but for God's sake can you try to pretend to be a man for once?"

He grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. "I'm just trying to stop you from making a serious mistake. Give me another chance, Bulma. Please!"

"Would you be acting so desperate if I were attracted to someone else other than Vegeta?" she asked in a hard voice, her blue eyes boring into his own.

Yamcha couldn't come up with the words for a rebuttal and she pulled her arm free. "I didn't think so. We’re through, Yamcha. You didn't know what you wanted before and that hasn't changed now."

"He's only going to hurt you!" he yelled at her.

"No one could hurt me as badly as you did!" she screamed back and sprinted away as tears came to her eyes. He watched her anguished retreat, his hands clenched into fists by his sides and his scarred face twisted with bitter hate.

"Vegeta," he growled.

 


	6. First Kiss

Rather than go into the house where she might run into her mother who would comment on her obvious distress, Bulma returned to her office and slammed the door. She kicked at the parts and equipment scattered around the floor while muttering a steady stream of epitaphs against Yamcha. _Did he really just try and play the victim card on her? How did he even have the right?_ Between him and that woman in the park, she was torn on what to do about her feelings for Vegeta. _Maybe... maybe they were right?_ She shook her head in frustration and was about to go look for the Saiyan when she glanced at her desk and released a startled gasp of surprise.

There were two new blueprints lying on its cluttered surface. Picking one up in confusion, Bulma stared at it in amazement when she recognized the unique handwriting. "I'll be damned."

She left her office and went down the hall to the drafting department. The door was partially open and all the lights were on. When she peered inside, her previous animosity and indecision went out of her in a rush. Smiling broadly, she slipped away as silently as she appeared.

After losing his temper with Bulma in the park Vegeta returned to the isolation of his gravity simulator, but the visible hurt on her face after his brutal rebuff plagued him for the rest of the day, interfering with his concentration. He finally had to stop the machine and puzzle it out before he injured himself. _Again_. It took some time, but he eventually rationalized that her curiosity was probably a normal thing. What human wouldn't be? He should have been flattered by the attention so... _Why was it such a damn bother?_ The Briefs woman appeared trustworthy with no motive behind her probing questions other than a persistent nosiness that was almost childlike. He was so used to having his back against the wall for being a loathed Saiyan that he realized he was completely unprepared for innocuous interest. He realized that it was a refreshing diversion to intercept questions rather than insults. Vegeta didn't want that to change, but he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to encourage it, either.

Late that evening, during his usual struggle to sleep, it dawned on him how he could possibly make it up to her. Bulma had been surrounded by athletic male figures for all of her life. Displays of power or physical effort meant nothing to her. He had observed her excitement when she had been in front of her computer entering the blueprint data he had revised for Dr. Briefs. That was the key and he got out of bed, got dressed and went downstairs to the drafting room where he stayed for the rest of the night.

He was stretched out on the couch in the department with an arm over his eyes to shut out the light. A clipboard was lying on his chest with a pencil loosely clenched in one hand. At some time around six in the morning, he had taken a break to puzzle out a computation that was eluding him and had finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

The heady smell of coffee slowly brought him around and, when he opened his eyes, he realized he had fallen asleep. It was now light outside and Bulma was standing over him holding a mug of coffee in each hand. He noticed she was wearing her jogging clothes.

"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up and accepting the proffered beverage.

"Almost eight."

He rubbed his burning eyes with a grimace. "Shit. Give me a few minutes and I'll get changed-"

"That's alright. I just got back." She decided it would be for the best if she left out Yamcha's participation. "If it's any consolation it's not the same running without you. I missed your biting sarcasm."

"Thanks, I think," he grumbled, drinking his coffee and suddenly scowled into the mug. "What is this? Decaf?"

"You're hyper enough as it is," she said in amusement.

"Not this morning, I'm not."

Looking at him more closely as he nursed his drink, she watched as he struggled to snap out of his daze. "I'm worried that you may not be getting enough sleep. Is there something wrong?"

He got to his feet with a grunt and wandered over to the drafting table. "Have you seen the designs I left on your desk?"

She hated it when he changed the subject with such obvious scorn. "I took a glance at them but, Vegeta..."

"I recalled an exhaust system that Frieza's scientists had been dissecting," he told her. "It recycled the external combustion and powered all of the electrical systems in a closed-circuit exchange-"

"Vegeta, you're babbling."

He glared at her. "I don't babble. I thought the schematics would interest you."

"The design is intriguing," she said honestly. "Right now, I'd sooner talk to you about-"

"Bah! Why did I even bother?!" he shouted and suddenly kicked over the drafting table in anger.

Jumping out of the way, Bulma looked at him in confusion. "What's the matter with you?"

"You! You're the matter!" He screamed at her, throwing the mug against the nearest wall. His blue ki erupted around him without his being aware of it. "I get up in the morning – _you’re there!_ I leave the simulator - _you’re there!_ Everywhere I turn - _you’re there!_ Now I can't even sleep at night without you intruding in my dreams. You. Are. Driving. Me. _CRAZY!"_

Bulma had been entirely oblivious that she'd had any kind of an affect on him. He was such a master of concealing his emotions that this crazed confession took her entirely by surprise. The two regarded one another through a wall of tension until she confessed to him in a small voice, "I haven't been sleeping very well either. I've been dreaming about you, too."

Confusion replaced the rage on his face. He dropped his self-protective shield of energy and stood in front of her with his defenses down. "What does that mean?"

She cleared the distance and took one of his hands into her own. It was surprisingly smooth as she traced the lines on his palm with a fingernail. If he wanted to, he could grind the bones of her delicate fingers into dust but when she squeezed his hand, he gently squeezed back. She smiled when she looked into his strange eyes and reached towards his face.

His features tensed in alarm and he shied away from her touch. "Don't..."

Hesitating, Bulma saw what could be mistaken as distrust in his tense posture. There was something more revealed in his usually guarded eyes that she was privy to view. The Saiyan's conduct was like an animal in a shelter that had been so badly abused in its life that it could no longer decipher cruelty from compassion. Sadly, it was the type of animal that was always deemed untrustworthy and put out of its misery. The depth of unease and indecision in his black gaze wounded her. She resolved that she would not give up on him so easily.

"I won't hurt you. Don't you trust me? Just a little bit?" she murmured, her soul aching from the apparent wariness of such a simple offering.

He stood his ground and permitted the contact, but only barely. His muscles were coiled up like springs and she knew that he was close to bolting. The tips of her fingers gently traced the minute scars on his face; some faded by years and barely noticeable, others more recent. There was so much pain etched into his hardened features that her heart bled and her eyes swam with remorseful tears. With a sound like a sob, she closed her lips over his own.

She got no response. His mouth remained tense and hard against hers. He looked into her face searching for deception or a possible ruse he was so used to confronting, but her face was serene and her eyes, _Oh Gods! Her eyes!_ implored him to share what she so freely wanted to offer him. With a weary sigh, he gradually yielded to her gentle insistence. They finally shared a tender, brief kiss before resting their foreheads against one another and looked into each other's eyes.

"Does that help answer your question?" she whispered.

When she touched his face again this time he relaxed against her palm and a smile flickered across his features at the warm contact. It was so fleeting that Bulma wouldn't have seen it if their faces hadn't been so close to one another. But it had been a smile nonetheless.

"It answers one but only creates others," he spoke up at last. His voice had dropped to a low, throaty tone that raised gooseflesh on her arms. She could imagine hearing that voice in the dark of night while he was atop of her. Urgently, she pressed her body against him. He cast a bewildered glance around the room, looking very different than his usual self-assured arrogance. He looked completely out of his element. Slowly, his muscular arms encircled her slight frame, completing the embrace she had begun. More to himself, he commented, "What happens now?"

Bulma was carefully composing her answer when there was the distant exchange of voices as the morning staff arrived for their shift. Vegeta flinched and immediately stepped back before they could be seen together. The wall of suppressed emotions went back up and he walked over and lifted the heavy drafting table back to it previous position. He took down the unfinished blueprint and rolled it up into a tube as he looked anxiously at her. "I'll finish this up later."

"Sure. Sure, Vegeta. Try to get some rest today, okay?"

He opened his mouth to respond when Charles McNeal poked his head inside of the room and said cheerfully, "Good morning, you two. What a beautiful day!"

"Get out of my way, you idiot," Vegeta snapped as he sidestepped around the man to leave.

The scientist watched him go without comment. Dr. Briefs had lectured his staff when the Saiyan had first arrived about his moodiness and to not provoke him at any costs. Until the communications chip was introduced to their workload, the staff had figured the little guy to be a psycho. Now, he had the coveted distinction of being one more temperamental genius among their ranks.

"Morning, Charles," Bulma greeted absently as she kept her eye on the door. Her heart was still racing from that small kiss and the feel of Vegeta's arms around her body. _It had just felt so right-!_ She had to submerge a shiver of excitement.

His eyebrows raised in surprise as he smiled at her. "Did someone change the dress code the last time I was here? Rowf!"

She knew his was referring to her too-tight jogging ensemble and blushed. "I'm going to my office. When you see dad tell him I've got something to show him."

Charles' eyes brightened like a kid on Christmas morning. He had seen Vegeta carrying a blueprint in one fist. "Is... ah, he going to like it?"

"I think we all will."

"Hot damn! I don't know where you found this guy but he sure is job security!" the scientist yelled in rising excitement. "Hey, is it true that you two are-"

"Just pass along the message, okay?" Bulma reminded him with a slanted smile. When she was halfway down the hall she could hear Charles mutter; "What the hell? Hey! That was my favorite mug!"

Covering her mouth, she managed to hold in her laughter until she was in her office. Leaning against the closed door, she let it all out until her peels of giggles almost resembled hysterics.

Vegeta was _not_ laughing.

When he returned to his room he quickly discovered that there wasn't enough cold water in the world to get his mind off of the feel of Bulma's body against his own, the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair-

"Oh, god damn it!" he shouted into the chilling spray. He stayed there until he started shivering and then paced around the room like a caged beast wondering what he could do. Even his supposedly talented, uncommunicative fingers weren't enough to stave off the edge to his desire. This game of flirtatious glances and touches was going to be the death of him. Didn't she realize he was trying to concentrate on his training?

 _I'm acting like a Low Caste Saiyan in his first heat_ , he thought in despair as he sat on the corner of the bed with his head in his hands. There was no logic to what he was feeling; the intensity of his attraction for the blue-haired female was overpowering, clouding all other reason. He had never felt anything like this before. He figured that it might have something to do with the fact he hadn't coupled with a woman since before Radditz's death on Earth. He looked over at his exercise clothes and sighed.

It looked like he was going to be beating his brains out in the simulator today after all.

Yamcha came back from the run and waited around in the courtyard for Vegeta to show up. Whether it would be a verbal confrontation or a physical one the younger fighter didn't care. Even Paur had settled into the background in a mood close to a wounded sulk because Yamcha refused to listen to the cat's words of reason.

Hearing movement behind him, Yamcha whirled and saw the Saiyan jump to the ground from his own quarters and enter the gravity simulator, locking the door after him. The red warning lights of a training session in progress came on almost immediately.

"Damn it," he said under his breath, realizing that the alien had been inside the damn building the entire time he had been outside waiting for him to show. He was about to fly off and return to his apartment when he saw Dr. Briefs peddling around the grounds doing his morning inventory before going inside to work. Now that the nosy Saiyan wasn't anywhere within earshot Yamcha intercepted the aged man, betting that cooler heads would prevail with the information he had to share.

"Hey Doctor Briefs. Can I have a word with you?" he asked gravely.

 

* * *

 

It was the sound of shouting that called a premature end to his training session as Vegeta powered down the simulator to see what the hell all of the commotion was about. He had become almost as accustomed to recognizing Bulma's excruciating pitches of voice as he was to rogue ki levels. That sound of stress in the woman's tone didn't make him hurry his pace as he exited the capsule. He was just relieved that it appeared as if someone else were the recipient of her rage instead of himself for a change. The irritation on his face lessened when he heard Yamcha's voice attempting (without much success) to break into the tirade.

Moving around to the south side of the complex, Vegeta levitated to the roof of the headquarters building and stayed low. Bulma and Yamcha were in each other's faces and oblivious to spectators, but Paur was doing fretful circles around the pair and the Saiyan knew that the irritating creature had a keen eye. Lying on his stomach, he propped his head up with one arm and proceeded to watch the show.

Stamping a short distance away Bulma was starting to wind down when she said, "We were together for over ten years and _now_ you're trying to tell me that you know what you want? I don't buy it."

"Those other women meant nothing to me. I've always loved you. You know that, Bulma."

"You sure have had a strange way of showing it."

"I was immature. I've... I've changed. At least let me prove it to you. I told you this morning during that jog that I know how to treat you right-"

On the roof, Vegeta's amused smirk dropped as if he'd received a slap in the face. Bulma hadn’t mentioned she had gone for a run with _him_. His fingers sank into the dense concrete down to the second knuckle before he reined his strength (and inexplicable jealousy) back in.

"And I told you that if it had been anybody other than Vegeta, you wouldn't be acting like such an ass!" Bulma yelled back, getting her second wind. "Honestly, how could you do such a thing behind my back, Yamcha?"

"Me? How about you? That little shit as much as killed me and you turned around and chased after him like a bitch in heat!"

She moved in with deceptive speed and slapped him so hard across the face that his head actually swung with the blow. Vegeta should have been amused but it was dawning on him that this was something far more serious than an old lover's quarrel.

"That was nasty," she hissed.

Yamcha slowly turned to look at her, the left-hand side of his face flushing pink. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? All of those people in East city who died when he first showed up. All of those innocent Nameks and countless other races that he's exterminated. And here you are just dying to spread your legs-"

Spitting in fury, she dove in and this time he caught her arm and pulled her in close. "He's going to kill you, Bulma. Maybe not now while you still amuse him but, eventually he'll get bored of you and your family and do away with you all. And he'll be laughing when he does it."

On the rooftop, Vegeta had indeed been aiming his index and middle fingers at Yamcha's neck just above the shoulder blades and drew them in quickly at the fighter's harsh words before he fired. His teeth were clenched together so hard in his rage that his jaws ached.

Tears were starting to course down Bulma's face. _First that bitch in the park and now Yamcha! Nobody understood! How dare they voice their opinions about a person they didn't even know?_ All she could think about was that pitiful way Vegeta had cringed from her touch in the drafting department. Prior to her gentle caress, a hand to the face just meant an incoming punch. Pain was something the Saiyan knew all too well and no one wanted to give her the chance to show him that there were far more pleasurable sensations to look forward to. "I keep telling you he's changed!" she sobbed. "You just can't see it because you're too blinded by hate to-to-"

"You're the one who's blind here, Bulma," Yamcha cut in when her words faltered. "I know you have a trusting heart like your mother’s, but this time it's telling you the wrong things. Vegeta-is-evil. I know you don't want it on your conscience when he finally reverts to his old ways. And it _will_ happen. He's no better than Frieza. Creatures like him _never_ change, they-"

Vegeta heard enough.

If he listened to any more of Yamcha's bullshit, the fighter’s prophecy would come true even sooner than he thought. At this point, Vegeta’s rage was poised to take out the Capital. Hell, aside from Kakarrot there was nobody who could stop him from destroying this entire, pathetic _world_ and, knowing that idiot’s penchant for missing deadlines, he’d probably have plenty of time to do _that_.

 _No._ He reminded himself there was one other person that mattered in his life. _Bulma_. She wasn’t a loathed rival or a threat. She was... He didn’t quite know _what_ she was to him at this point, but she definitely _wasn’t_ an enemy. He had to close his eyes and briefly envision her face before he lost control and started an act that would have unspeakable consequences. It took some time but, when he opened them again, he was calmer.

Sliding down the incline of the building, Vegeta stopped when he reached the third level and slipped inside his quarters. At a rare loss, he decided that the only thing he could possibly do was lie low and wait for the fight to blow over. He would like to join in the argument and tell the prick where he could shove his damn accusations, but knew that would only set off his temper again. Bulma would track him down soon enough and he wanted it to happen on a full stomach. He pulled on a change of clothes and set a course for the kitchen, which was about the only refuge on this entire miserable planet that he had left.

Downstairs in the living room, Dr. Briefs and his wife were exchanging another anxious exchange. It was rare when Mrs. Briefs’ usual manic behavior was cowed but, at the moment, she was fitfully wrestling a tea towel in her manicured hands while her husband paced the room.

"What am I going to do?" he asked her for the fourth time in an hour.

"I had- I never realized-I-I-" she stammered helplessly.

"All of those innocent people," he said in a stunned voice. "All of those worlds. Hundreds of thousands of lives. Perhaps millions. Why didn't Bulma tell us this before?"

"Perhaps... perhaps she didn't know..."

"She knew," he grumbled. There was a hard edge to his voice that was rare for him. "She didn't tell us because she knew I'd never have permitted him here. She deliberately lied to us both."

"Oh, dear. Oh- _oh dear!_ He's such a quiet young man. I-I had no idea!"

"All of those people," Dr. Briefs said in a soft, wounded voice. "I've sheltered a butcher in my house."

Bulma's mother released a shriek and pressed herself against the backrest of her chair, pointing up. Whirling, her husband looked to the open balcony that overlooked the living room and saw Vegeta standing there, silently watching them.

Deliberately, the alien descended the stairs while his dark, slanted eyes never left Dr. Briefs’ sweating face. He walked over to them and assumed his usual cross-armed stance. "I demand to know what you're babbling about," he said brusquely.

For a long moment the elderly man could only stare at him before he straightened his spine and announced, "Yamcha told us everything."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed in hate. "...Yamcha."

"You never told me that the technology you're copying are from worlds whose race you personally exterminated."

"Not all of it is."

"But you don't deny that you have killed on such a vast scale."

"It was my job."

"And that you... enjoyed it?"

"Everybody needs a hobby," he responded with his characteristic arrogance. That mocking little smirk was back on his face at the memory.

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. Bulma's mother released a trembling sob at the ruthless humor on the Saiyan's face while Dr. Briefs noticeably paled. "Vegeta," was all he could get out.

Beginning to lose his patience Vegeta told him in a rough voice, "I owe you no explanations for my past, old man. I resent you trying to preach Earth morals to me. The rules of this pathetic world don't apply to the Prince of all Saiyans!"

"That's where you're wrong," Dr. Briefs assured him. He was past his fear now, responding to his familial responsibilities that he allowed to loosen far too much. It was time to reel in the slack. "As long as you are living under my roof you will have to comply to _my_ rules."

"And haven't I been doing that?" he shot back. "Who have I killed since I've been here? What damage have I caused? I've willingly prostituted myself to you in exchange for your generosity. What more can I do to prove my intentions?"

Of the two, it was Mrs. Briefs who heard the pleading timbre beneath Vegeta’s harsh words. She reached towards her husband with a trembling hand and attempted, "Maybe... I-I think we all need to just sit down for a minute..."

"I want you to stay away from Bulma," the scientist told him in a low voice, his heavy brows furrowed together. "I suppose I'll have to tolerate your presence in my home so long as you continue to toe the line, but my daughter is off-limits to you. Is that understood?"

The Saiyan's face darkened at the unvoiced threat, not taking kindly to being given an order. It appeared that the friendly old man who had referred to him with that disarming word of 'son' was gone. In its place was something that Vegeta was intimately familiar with; hostility, hatred, resentment. He glanced over to Bulma's mother and watched as she dropped her eyes and shivered under his probing stare. Oh yes, he saw another emotion there he recognized all too well.

Terror.

"What's it going to be, Vegeta?" Dr. Briefs pressed.

"Idiots! You've let yourselves be swayed by the words of a jealous human. You know _nothing!"_

"What-is-it-going-to-be?" the older man demanded.

Vegeta's hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides, the fingernails digging into his palms and drawing blood. The pain helped him to snap out of his rage before he did something unforgivable. Of the two, he ended up dropping his eyes first. "Fine," he spat. "I never encouraged the woman's attentions to begin with. Just make sure that she stays out of my way."

"I plan to," Dr. Briefs assured him. He felt absolutely no sense of accomplishment when the alien gave an infuriated exhale of breath and prowled for the nearest exit.

"Oh! And Vegeta!" he called after him.

A part of the Saiyan that was dimming rapidly was hoping for a change of heart, some kind word that might possibly soothe over this terrible confrontation. He half-turned and looked over his shoulder at the man who, before this, had nothing but kind words and praise for him.

 _A mistake,_ he thought to himself. _He'll apologize, excuse himself for being a stupid, old fool and say it was all a mistake._ "What is it?" he asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

"You're fired," Dr. Briefs said coldly.

 


	7. Separated Souls

 

Retreating to opposite corners of the compound, Bulma and Yamcha relented to an unspoken time-out while they grappled with their anger. Yamcha couldn't comprehend her reaction over the situation. He had only told her parents what Vegeta was all about, nothing more or less (although he did add some embellishments when the details were spotty to lend his words more impact. Nothing _too_ serious). By having Bulma's parents on his side he figured his ex would have finally seen reason but, after every argument, she only became more adversarial. He was actually beginning to have the first stirrings of doubt over what he had done. Up until now, her ability to puzzle out a person's hidden personality had been faultless. She had opened her heart to him practically from day one even though he had been trying to rob her when they first met. Was it possible that talent had seen something in Vegeta? _Was it even possible?_

Grappling with hot bitter tears, Bulma sat in the grass beside one of the storage capsules on the property keeping vigil over the gravity simulator. Yamcha had told her that he had seen Vegeta slip inside earlier this morning, but it was now empty. She didn't know what to make of his absence, but she hoped that she could diffuse this tense situation before he came back. Unfortunately, things only appeared to be escalating and she had never seen her father so livid in all of her life.

"How could you, Yamcha?" she whispered in dismay.

The embittered fighter had cornered Dr. Briefs on his way into work and had asked to speak to him and his wife in private. What followed had been a two-hour lecture on the evil ways of the corrupted Saiyan race and the devastation that Vegeta had personally inflicted onto a terrified galaxy while working for Frieza. Yamcha had also seen fit to give a detailed account of their first confrontation on Earth... up until he had died by Nappa's hand, that is. The Namek tale was the worst; Yamcha had been dead during the entire Namek situation and so, had made inaccurate embellishments that had relied on biased heresy from the others. None of it had painted Vegeta in a flattering light.

Bulma was entirely caught off guard when her father cornered her in her office. She had been studying the blueprints Vegeta had drawn for her, unable to hide her mystified smile. She was still reliving the tender kiss they'd shared when her father stormed into the room, seized the plans out of her hands and ripped them in half.

"Dad! What're you doing?" she shrieked, diving for the tattered pieces as he threw them to the floor.

He closed the door and turned on her, his blue eyes practically swimming in tears behind his thick glasses. "Why didn't you tell us?" he asked in a harsh voice.

"What's wrong with you, dad? Vegeta gave me those blueprints this morning as a gift. Why did you-?"

"Enough about Vegeta!" he shouted at her. "Yamcha just told me everything that he's ever done. He's a butcher and you knowingly invited him into my house without telling me! How could you betray my trust like that, Bulma?"

Seeing that incomprehensible rage in her father's face Bulma could only stammer in confusion. One word penetrated her shock. "Yamcha? We had a fight earlier in the park. He went running to you? What did he tell you?"

"He told me what you neglected to say. All of the worlds that killer invaded, entire populations of innocent people slaughtered-"

"Dad, Vegeta worked for Frieza. He had no choice! He-"

"He enjoyed it," Dr. Briefs snapped back. "Don't try to gloss over the truth. You're incapable of being rational where that alien is concerned. I see that now. Thank god that Yamcha set us straight!"

"Yamcha doesn't even know Vegeta. He hates him!"

"With good reason. Yamcha died because of him."

"It was Nappa! Nappa and his Saibamen-"

"Nappa took orders from Vegeta," Dr. Briefs growled. He was getting angrier by the minute instead of the other way around. Bulma had no choice but to try and wait him out in hopes he would calm down before she made another attempt at reason. "I know everything Bulma and, when I see that Saiyan, he and I are going to have words."

She didn't like the sound of that. "What are you going to say to him?"

Moving towards the door Dr. Briefs fixed her with a solemn look. "You shouldn't have become attached to him. It ends now," he said and left her office.

"Dad- _No!_ " she screamed after him, rushing out into the corridor. The day staff had begun curiously collecting around their doorways and now scrambled back inside their labs as the puzzling conflict moved out of the office. "Leave him alone!"

"He is no longer your concern. The two of you are off-limits from this moment on, Bulma," he said without turning around.

"Damn it! You can't do that!" she yelled after him.

Just before rounding the corner, her father fixed her with a look that brought her to an abrupt halt her words dying in her throat.

"Daughter, it is done," he told her and ascended the stairs to leave.

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve Bulma cast an anxious glance at the simulator, waiting in dread for Vegeta's return. She had no idea how the alien would respond once the accusations started to fly. Fight or flight? It all depended on his mood and he had been so tense lately from his set-backs during his training. She wanted to make sure that she got to him first to warn him of what to expect. He wouldn't blame her, she knew this instinctively, but he might just retaliate against someone else if she didn't calm him down. Right now, she absolutely loathed Yamcha but that didn't mean she wanted his murder on her conscience (at least, she kept trying to convince herself of that).

"Speak of the devil," she muttered as Yamcha came into view, coming around the main building obviously ready for round two. Gathering her strained resources for another face-off Bulma got to her feet even though her throat hurt and her head was aching fiercely.

The pair was about to fly into one another again when someone called out her name. Turning in surprise she saw Charles running towards her waving a paper urgently. "Bulma!"

Dismissing Yamcha, she waited for the scientist to come up to her. His face was flushed but it clearly wasn't from the sprint. He was visibly upset, shoving the wrinkled paper into Bulma's hands. "I just printed this off. It popped into all our email accounts five minutes ago. The entire department is in an uproar. What the hell is going on?!"

Suppressing a shiver Bulma read the terse memo, her features paling in shock.

_Attention to all department heads and staff_   
_dedicated to the current communication chip_   
_prototype study and development. All research_   
_is to be abandoned immediately. All data and_   
_relevant documentation are to be destroyed_   
_with no copies or back-ups to exist. This_   
_applies to everyone without exception._   
_-Dr. Briefs, President_

"Oh no," Bulma said in an unsteady voice. The paper fluttered from her numb fingers and Yamcha snatched it up before it hit the ground. He read it with puzzled expression on his face.

"You're the department head. What do we do?" Charles pleaded. He was practically in tears over the thought of seeing the project destroyed. "No one can talk to your father. He came downstairs barely a half-hour ago and locked himself in his office. What the hell is going on, Bulma?"

"Let-let me think for a minute," she said distractedly, pacing in a tight circle as her mind raced. "Charles, tell everyone to do as dad ordered."

Charles' eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "Bulma!"

" _But_ have back-ups made of everything. Just tell them to keep quiet on it. This is all just one big misunderstanding. It'll blow over soon."

"I sure hope so. I'll get right on it," the younger man said quickly and raced back downstairs before one byte of precious data could be irretrievably lost.

Bulma began to follow him until Yamcha grabbed her arm. "Not so fast! We still have this issue of Vegeta to settle first."

Wrenching her arm free Bulma pushed the burly fighter backwards as she exploded, "You idiot! This _is_ about Vegeta! He was working for dad and now thanks to your jealous bullshit all his hard work is going to be destroyed! _"_

Yamcha was left blinking in astonishment, trying to come up with a defense but Bulma had wasted enough time on him. Running into the headquarters building she could hear the commotion even before she reached the doors to the Research and Development labs. Her father had come out of his office and was trying to restore some semblance of order to his staff.

"Please everyone, try to calm down," the old man said in a loud voice. "I just can't get into the details of the situation at this time. I only expect that my request will be followed to the letter."

"What about the competitive bids that have already come in for the development of this project?" one technician called out, obviously outraged. "Are you seriously going to turn down their offers?"

"I'm going to have to. The blueprints of the communications chip were based on false pretenses. I cannot, in good conscience, use them here," Dr. Briefs spoke slowly.

Going over to where Bulma was standing Charles looked at her pale, disbelieving face and suddenly called out over the crowd, "What about the designer? Vegeta? What's he got to say about all of this?"

The staff quieted down waiting expectantly for an answer. Finding his daughter's eyes and holding them in a withering glare, Dr. Briefs stated firmly, "Earlier this afternoon, Vegeta was informed of his termination of employment with Capsule Corp. He is no longer an employee of this company."

Yamcha had been coming down the stairs when he heard that harsh statement reverberate along the corridor. His blood went cold in shock, unable to believe how things could have gone downhill so quickly. All he wanted to do was to make Bulma see Vegeta for what he truly was. It was now dawning on him that he should have taken more time to figure out _who_ the Saiyan was first.

There was a stunned silence following that announcement before the staff started demanding an explanation louder than before. Yamcha's stomach did a lazy roll when Bulma burst through the doors, her face flushed and furious. The two met eyes and he was unable to hold his own to her livid, accusing stare. He wordlessly stepped aside and made no attempt to follow her as she went upstairs to the living area of the building.

Bulma found her mother still sitting in the living room mutilating the remains of her tea towel in her nervous hands. She had recently been crying and when she saw her daughter enter the room, she burst into noisy tears again. "Oh! Buh-Bulma! It's awful!" she wailed in near-hysterics.

Embracing her awkwardly Bulma waited for the torrent to pass before asking, "I need to talk to Vegeta, mom. Have you seen him?"

"He went straight to his room after your father fired him," the blond sniffed. "Oh, he looked sooo hurt, Bulma! I've never seen him look that way before. None of this is true, is it, dear? I just can't believe it!"

“It... it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything later. I promise.”

Leaving her side Bulma raced up the freestanding staircase and jogged along the balcony that over-looked the living area. Skidding to a halt in front of Vegeta's quarters she found the door to his room unlocked and partially ajar. Her dread began to intensify and she had to force herself to step inside.

She saw the truth the instant she looked at the closet and saw only bare hangers there. The drawers of the bureau had been cleaned out of their belongings (what pitifully few Vegeta possessed anyway). The bathroom was empty of any necessities. Grappling with the reality of the situation Bulma rushed to the open window as if half-expecting to catch sight of him or the scar of after-burn from his retreat. She saw neither.

 _"VEGETA!"_ she screamed with all of the pain from her heart and soul, her throat straining from the effort. Standing below were several employees who were trying to puzzle out the scene in the downstairs lab. They whirled at the sound of that cry, never having heard such piercing sorrow from another human being in all of their lives.

Holding her breath, Bulma practically willed her racing heart to slow as she waited for some manner of response in her mind or heart where she prayed Vegeta had left some minuscule portion of himself. There was no sense of reaction. Her call echoed flatly off of the buildings and went unanswered and she could not muster the strength for another. Speeding a deliberate course away from Capsule Corp. Vegeta was trying to escape from people who now viewed him as utterly loathsome. He was alone and defenseless against a world he was ill prepared to handle. Leaving her behind and all of the things she had so freely wanted to share in their pitifully short time together.

All at once the strength went out of her legs and she sank bonelessly to the floor, her small frame wracked by grieving sobs. Realization fell on her like a shroud and she could not deny the truth.

She was alone now, too.


	8. Piccolo's Discovery

 

It would be impossible for the naked eye to track the blur that grazed the troposphere in a hyperbolic arc; a flight plan that more readily covered extreme distances in a shorter amount of time. From this high up, the resultant sonic boom was an indiscernible mutter of sound lost to the lone traveler as he sped towards his course. Senses strained to their maximum, Piccolo focused on the unique signature of ki that belonged solely to Vegeta and it wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination. The Saiyan was deliberately keeping his personal energy to a minimum, no doubt trying to avoid the very thing the Namek was doing. The distance also played in the smaller alien's favor. After more than a day, Piccolo was reasonably sure he was finally heading in the right direction after several false leads. Not for the first time, he wondered just what he was going to do in the inevitable confrontation to follow.

His thoughts strayed back to when Yamcha landed in the Son family yard. Piccolo had elected to train with Goku just to spend some more time with his favorite person on the entire planet; young Gohan, whom he adored. The minute the young, scar-faced fighter appeared Piccolo knew it was going to be bad news and he wasn't disappointed.

Goku, as ever, was oblivious. "Hiya Yamcha! It's great to see you. Have you come to spar?" he greeted with his usual cheerfulness. It was always a bit disarming to Piccolo how the younger man could normally act so happy-go-lucky until a fight came up and his manner changed to one of ferocious intensity. Not for the first time, he wondered if Goku was bi-polar.

Yamcha smiled at the warm response and then appeared troubled. "Actually, no. No, I didn't. I... uh, came to get some advice," he admitted haltingly.

That innocuous grin of Goku's never wavered. "Well, shoot! What can we do for you?"

Standing on the sidelines, Gohan craned his head up to look at Piccolo and saw that expression of sullen anger on the Namek's emerald features. "What's going on, Piccolo?"

"Trouble," was all he had to say in response.

Sure enough, Yamcha related the events that had just happened at Capsule Corp. He tried to keep the indignation out of his voice when he told them of Bulma and Vegeta's times together and her confessed attraction to him. Gohan appeared completely floored by the revelation, but Piccolo and Goku only exchanged a knowing glance. They had been forewarned of the strange pairing from that lavender-haired youth from the future and the news was no surprise. What they were unprepared for was Yamcha's destructive meddling that had turned Capsule Corp. into a demilitarized zone and effectively driven Vegeta off to parts unknown. In a completely unexpected turn of events, Bulma had quit her position at the company and moved out of the headquarters building in protest. She moved into a nearby hotel, refusing contact with Yamcha or her family as she tried to find Vegeta on her own. The entire situation had turned into a disaster.

"And it's all my fault," Yamcha admitted. "I really didn't expect this would happen."

"Oh, bullshit," Piccolo rumbled in annoyance. "This was _exactly_ what you hoped would happen. The only problem with the plan was that Bulma didn't leap back into your arms like you expected she would."

Yamcha swallowed, unable to hold his eyes up to the commanding figure of the brooding Namek. He dropped his head and betrayed a small nod of shame. "I was convinced that Vegeta would eventually hurt her. I didn't know that he was working for her father or that he had settled in so well with them. I... I don't know what to do. That's why I came here."

"When did this all happen?" Goku asked curiously.

Yamcha squared his shoulders and admitted, "Ten days ago."

 _"Ten days!?"_ Piccolo bellowed. The only one of the assembled trio who didn't so much as flinch at the fearsome roar was young Gohan. The youth was absorbing all of the drama with a maturity that went far beyond his eight years. He stared up at his enraged sensei while the Namek continued his rant; "In ten _minutes_ Vegeta could have turned this world inside out and you've let him wander around Earth unchecked for the last ten _days_ without warning anybody? Are you a complete imbecile?"

"Bulma told me to wait and see if he would return." He shrugged unhappily. "Obviously, that hasn't happened. I'm at a real loss here, guys."

Scratching the back of his head, Goku appeared bewildered for a moment. "Well, I guess the only thing to do is for me to go track Vegeta down."

"And what would you tell him?" Piccolo cut in roughly, fixing him with a knowing glare. They both knew that the Saiyan prince loathed the younger fighter. A rational conversation between them would be next to impossible. In the inevitable brawl to follow, Goku would more than likely betray the information confided to him and make the current damage irreparable. The two Saiyans had to stay separated from one another, at least until Trunks was conceived. After that, it should no longer matter.

"Well, I'd say he had to go back to Bulma 'cause-" Goku's mouth snapped shut in realization. "Okay, I see your point. But someone's gonna have to go after him before he does something... bad." They had sensed Vegeta's power tantrum in the Australian archipelago when it had happened a few weeks ago with some concern. They didn't want a repeat of that performance in an area that was populated.

Yamcha's eyes widened in alarm and Gohan only looked perplexed by the whole thing. Only Piccolo stood his place and his expression never changed when he understood his role was to play the reluctant matchmaker. "I'll find him," he said in a low voice. He pointed a taloned finger at Yamcha who blanched in fear. "You. Go back to Capsule Corp. and try to undo some of the damage you've caused. Use Goku or Gohan as character witnesses. Fetch Krillin if you have to. This mess has got to be cleaned up, alright?"

Hesitantly, Yamcha nodded and, satisfied, Piccolo took to the air without another word or a backward glance at the trio. He was already in the process of mentally preparing himself for what was going to be a delicate operation against someone with an even worse hair-trigger temper than his own.

In all honesty, Piccolo personally preferred to be the sole person to confront Vegeta, recognizing a kindred spirit with the alien that he did not share with anyone else on this planet. It went beyond extraterrestrial origins or reciprocal dispositions and lay chiefly in the fact that, at one time, their goals had been virtually identical:

Kill Goku. Destroy the Earth. In that order.

There was an irony to the current plight that nobody seemed to bother touching on and it gnawed away at the back of Piccolo's mind as he continued his search. He, himself, had been wreaking havoc on the planet ever since Kami had sloughed off his evil negativity that had given Piccolo life as the Demon King. With relentless hatred, he had taunted Goku and his friends for over ten years and left nothing but chaos in his wake. All it had taken was one reluctant team-up and here he was now; kindly accepted among the Z Fighter ranks with hardly any opposition. Vegeta, on the other hand, had scarcely been on earth an hour in his first appearance and had managed to redeem himself on Namek. Despite that turn-around, most of Goku's allies still regarded him as the scourge of the galaxy to be feared and despised. That didn't appear very fair to Piccolo. He had found redemption in his own soul thanks to Gohan's trust and love (a kid he had originally kidnapped from his family and trained -mercilessly- against his will). Rather than be resentful or appalled by what he had done, Goku encouraged the bond to grow between his only child and his former enemy. Vegeta deserved the right to discover the same with Bulma and not be subjected to the embittered interference of an ex-lover.

 _But what can I possibly say to him?_ Piccolo brooded as he descended over northern North America, homing in on Vegeta's distinctive ki. Reasoning with the mercurial Saiyan would be next to impossible if he was in the throes of another tantrum. If it came to a conflict, he was outclassed despite all of the setbacks that Yamcha had told them of the Saiyan's training. He wasn't sure what he could do.

Mercifully, a voice came into his mind and provided a solution.

 

* * *

The lone grizzly, a huge hulking beast at the height of its prime, prowled the entrance of its den with growing agitation. He had staked out this site days earlier, listening to the telltale signs of an approaching winter that sang in his bones, imploring him to seek out an appropriate shelter in preparation for hibernation. Possessively guarding his territory, he peered into the depths of the barren cavity of rock in bewilderment sensing something was not quite right. He released one low growl of inquiry.

Someone or some... thing growled back.

Backing away in alarm, the grizzly snorted in displeasure. He raised himself on muscular hind legs and stood at his full height of over nine feet as he bellowed a roar of challenge at the intruder. When he got no answer, he began to pace restlessly back and forth outside of the cavern, his thunderous cries growing in volume with his rage. By the time the intruder emerged from the lair, the grizzly immediately charged its impressive bulk towards the slight figure with the full intention of ripping it to shreds.

Eager to meet the challenge, Vegeta bared his teeth in a feral grin and dropped the object he was holding under his right arm. He lowered himself to a deceptive crouch, eager to meet this new threat head-on. An instant before the great bear was on him, he jumped straight up into the air. The grizzly, a seasoned veteran bearing the scars of many territorial skirmishes, skidded to a halt and glanced around in confusion an instant before Vegeta dropped out of the sky, his elbow connecting with the bear’s spine and snapping it like a twig.

Driven brutally down into the dirt, its hind-legs dead, front limbs scrambling for futile purchase, the grizzly snapped at the empty air. His teeth gnashed together like a livid vice as he tried to locate the attacker. A roar was reduced to an agonized whimper as a blurred fist smashed against its head, crushing the jaw and breaking several teeth. A second blow shattered the immense skull, the inhuman pressure causing the grizzly's eyes to protrude from their sockets.

Vegeta watched the bear's death-throes with cold contempt, his blood lust piqued and far from sated. He evaded one lashing claw and brought his fist down into the bear's ribcage, collapsing it. His arm went in past the elbow, bathing it in warm wetness and the smell of the blood further amplified his crazed fury. He picked up the huge bear effortlessly and threw it against a nearby tree, shattering both. He did that again and again until all that was left was a fur-wrapped bundle of burst organs and broken bones that no longer bore any resemblance of its former, proud self.

Breathing heavily, Vegeta licked at the gore smeared across the palm of one hand and the coppery taste awakened a hunger in him that he had neglected to correct for some days now. He was famished. Compulsively, he began tearing through the mangled chest of the bear and tore loose the steaming prize, opening his mouth with eager anticipation. The heart hung poised about an inch from his mouth before he realized he was no longer alone.

Standing several yards away, Piccolo was watching the gruesome scene with silent contemplation. With a smirk, Vegeta extended his hand towards him, which was still clasped around the heart, and politely inquired, "Come to join the picnic?"

"I'll pass," the Namek said coolly.

"Too bad." He finished the act by taking a bite from the still-warm organ and grinning through a mask of blood. "You don't know what you're missing."

 _Oh, I'm sure I do,_ Piccolo wanted to add but chose to remain silent as he watched the Saiyan consume his grisly meal and then proceed to wipe his hands on the bear's fur. "Yamcha told me what happened."

"Oh yeah? Which version did he use with you?" Vegeta was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he wiped his face with his shirt, which was already filthy.

Ignoring the sarcasm, the Namek persisted, "This situation will blow over if you'd only come back and explain your side to-"

"I shouldn't have to 'explain' anything!"

"Vegeta, humans are emotional creatures. I'm sure if we both went back to Capsule Corp. you'd find the whole thing was just a misunderstanding-"

"How the hell would you know? You weren't even there!"

Attempting a different angle, Piccolo said, "Bulma is very upset by all of this. Perhaps you should talk things over with her. I'm sure that both of you would benefit from such an exchange-"

"Do _not_ interfere in my personal affairs, Namek," Vegeta snapped. "What do you know about relationships anyway? You're the only race I've ever met that can take the expression; 'Go fuck yourself' literally. Stay out of my life!"

Piccolo had to admit that, despite the harsh wording, he kind of had a point. As an asexual being, he didn't know the first thing about human dating rituals or the eccentricities associated with courtship and, truth be told, he didn't _want_ to know. From his perspective, the concept of human pairings was a needless, disgusting waste of energy best used elsewhere. Fortunately, thanks to Gohan, he now anticipated the sensation of companionship and relished the thought of another's company and figured he was one up on the Saiyan in that department. "I've come to bring you back."

Vegeta looked at him sharply, hearing the unvoiced threat in those six simple words and not liking it one bit. He offered the Namek a callous sneer and picked up the object he had discarded before killing the grizzly. "I'm busy. Go bother someone else," he said and powered up his ki and flew off.

Piccolo recognized what Vegeta was carrying with sudden alarm. He blasted after the Saiyan with a cry of fury and cut off his route of escape, extending his arms as he yelled; "What are you doing with a Dragonball?"

Looking down at the object under his arm as if it was the first time he'd seen it, Vegeta drawled in a mocking tone; "Oh, this silly old thing? Just something I picked up in my travels, that's all."

Glowering at him sidelong in one long, measuring glance, the Namek ventured, "You could not have sensed that one on your own."

"I had a little help," Vegeta admitted. He pulled a large circular object out of the pocket of his jacket. It looked like an over-sized pocket watch with a garish green dial.

"The Dragonball radar," Piccolo realized. "How-"

"Skulking around under Frieza's shadow has taught me quite a bit about subterfuge and infiltration. Despite their reputation, Capsule Corp. has piss-poor security. I doubt that anyone’s even noticed this is missing. By the time they do... it'll be too late to matter." He chuckled under his breath.

Piccolo seethed with anger as all of his thoughts of possible redemption on the fellow warrior's soul came crashing down in his mind. He recalled the proud words of an adoring son from the future. A sensation of reluctant acceptance from most of their allies as he settled on Earth. They had _all_ been fools to think that Vegeta had changed for the better. It was clear as day he had just reverted back to his old ways. Without warning, all of the bitterness and rage Piccolo had bottled up from their very first encounter came to the fore and he tensed his muscles, the veins rippling underneath of the green and pink surface of his skin like sluggish worms.

"You can't make any wishes, Vegeta. The Dragonballs need a year to recharge." The Dragonball the Saiyan was holding was only an indistinguishable gray-colored rock in its current state.

"By the time I track them all down it'll be close to that," the Saiyan told him. All pretenses of patience were gone and he flared his ki shield in preparation for combat. "I can wait until they're ready to make my wish."

Fangs bared, Piccolo flew into him with the force of a missile and drove them back down into the thick woods. Vegeta barely had the time to throw the Dragonball to safety before they clashed. Neither spared any quarter for the other as they exchanged a lightening-fast flurry of blows and then began releasing ki blasts that transformed the woods into a flaming pyre. Their personal shields protected them from the worst of it, as the dry timber became a suffocating conflagration that boxed them in on all sides. Vegeta flew into a churning pall of thick smoke, becoming lost to the incensed Namek's sight. An instant later, he appeared directly behind him with a glowing left palm. The Big Bang attack smashed into Piccolo's vulnerable back and propelled the large alien through the flaming brush and knocked aside rubble and trees from his path over an acre of distance.

Before chasing his prey, the enormity of the growing forest-fire dawned on Vegeta as the battle-lust slipped from his thoughts. For no reason he could decipher, he was reminded of Bulma's nagging pitch of voice when she had collected him from that barren archipelago, going on about how he had needlessly destroyed the area even though it had been uninhabited. There was wildlife in these thick woods that would die from this inferno and he knew that would upset her.

 _What the hell do I care?_ he admonished himself as he followed the clear path of devastation that marked where the Namek had been thrown by the blast. _Humans have their own devices to deal with such disasters. Let them clean this shit up._

 _Still..._ he glanced backwards. It was just a small fire, easily contained of caught early. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on collecting his ki as he envisioned the blazing woods around him and raised one glowing hand before slamming the palm directly into the dirt. There was a heavy sensation of a thick blanket of air that descended on the area. It pushed out the flammable oxygen and asphyxiated the flames in one swift stroke, leaving smoldering debris in its wake.

Vegeta had the thought; _Bulma would be pleased,_ before he trampled it. He couldn't believe he had even entertained the notion of her concern and was disgusted with himself. It only justified his reasoning further in seeking out the Dragonballs and setting things to rights. Earth had damaged him irreparably; it was time to correct that damage.

Just as he turned away from his inspection of the extinguished blaze, a mountain of green fury plowed into him. Several blows got through his lowered defenses until he had the clarity of mind to thrust out his defensive shield and force the Namek backwards. Piccolo, his weighted cape now reduced to a singed shawl, fired a huge ball of energy that was guaranteed to incinerate its target. Taking a desperate gamble that his attempts at his training may have actually accomplished something, Vegeta dove into the blast course and punched it upward and away from the volatile timber. It detonated several hundred feet above them, the shock-wave spiraling out in a circular shower of red-tinged smoke. The ground actually vibrated from the intensity of it.

Piccolo realized he was gaping in astonishment and quickly closed his mouth, but the rare look was lost to Vegeta who was shaking his badly burned hand and snarling a stream of curses. Sparing a glance around his surroundings, the Namek took note that the fire was out and he'd had no part in that. He marginally lowered his energy shield and took measure of the smaller man in front of him, unable to hide the confusion on his face. "You put out the fire."

Blowing air on the blisters forming on his knuckles, Vegeta scowled at him. "It was getting too hot for my taste."

 _He personally deflected the blast into the air rather than avoid it and let it fly into the forest,_ Piccolo brooded. _Why would he do that?_

"Something’s not right here..." he muttered under his breath, angry with himself for not seeing something he should have under calmer circumstances. Perhaps... perhaps Vegeta had not reverted back to type as he had feared. Maybe he was wrong to jump to such a hasty conclusion.

The Saiyan didn't give him any chance to debate the issues further as he released one of his feral bellows and moved in like a blur. They brawled in the smoldering debris until they were filthy with the clinging ash and blood from their wounds. Both antagonists were fairly matched despite the obvious differences in size. Piccolo was immensely strong and his time as Goku's personal punching bag had sharpened his fighting skills considerably. The Saiyan's reflexes were immeasurably quick and his martial arts were of an alien ilk that made coming up with defenses a tricky affair.

"You're weakening, Namek," Vegeta snarled with satisfaction.

"If I fall to you, the others will rise in my place," Piccolo assured him, struggling to catch his breath. "We'll never let you get the Dragonballs."

"I told you to stay out of my business."

The larger alien was shaking his head determinedly. "Not this time. You didn't get your chance at immortality on Namek and I'll be damned if you're going to get it here!"

That visage of anger slipped from Vegeta face for a moment before he erected it with difficulty. A haunted light had come to his eyes that Piccolo had never seen before and returned his earlier feeling of unease. He was about to start with the questions again until the Saiyan resumed his attack, sensing his hesitation. Dodging a flurry of fists and feet, Piccolo was caught in an unexpected defensive and the thought of who that attacker was renewed his previous animosity. With a snarl of malice, he raised one fist high in the air and brought it down in a glowing arc.

An instant before the terrible blow fell, Vegeta suddenly dropped his protective field of energy and closed his eyes, waiting for it. Piccolo barely had the wits to power down on the punch before it collided with the Saiyan's face, knocking him brutally off his feet and propelling him several meters away where he lay in a crumpled heap, not moving.

His muscles twitching in agitation, Piccolo tried to make sense of what had just happened. He tried blinking away the sight of Vegeta's calm expression as he waited for the blow that would have ripped his head from his shoulders if Piccolo hadn't held back at the last possible instant. _Just what the hell was going on here?_ He looked around at the smoldering forest again, sensing the Saiyan's ki that had smothered the flames. His troubled gaze dropped to the lonely Dragonball. It was lying nearby on a thatch of crisp grass, only nine months charged; The sole witness to this puzzling confrontation and only adding more questions with its very presence.

Vegeta uttered one low moan and struggled to sit up. He spat out a mouthful of blood and saw one tooth lying in the gore. Despite the sight, he raised his eyes to Piccolo and there was only vague resentment on his face when he said, "You held back."

"If I hadn't pulled that punch it would have taken your damned head off!" Piccolo snapped.

Again, he only got that disquieting expression in response to his words. If the Namek had to place a word on the emotion he was seeing, he would have had to call it disappointment. Continuing his earlier train of thought, he looked at the lone Dragonball again and asked in a calmer voice, "Why are you collecting the Dragonballs, Vegeta?"

"I thought you had all of the answers, Namek," Vegeta grumbled as he got slowly to his feet. It appeared as if the fight had finally left him after that last blow. He swayed on his feet for a moment before he collected his bearings, rubbing his jaw with a scowl.

"You're not gathering them to wish for immortality, are you?" Piccolo asked. When he got no response, he snarled. "Answer me!"

"Just ignore me for three more months. After that, I'll finish what you were too chicken-shit to do," Vegeta said in a low, defeated voice.

There was silence between the two antagonists as they faced one another in the seared woods. Far off, a raven was calling to its mates as if to inform them that the coast was clear; that everything was all right.

It dawned on Piccolo that nothing was all right. It wasn't even close. One look at the Saiyan's eyes told him that. Usually blazing with arrogance or rage, they were strikingly dull to the Namek's probing stare and that worried him more than he would have ever thought possible. He never thought he would live to see a day when the Saiyan's belligerence was cowed into submission. It suddenly dawned on him why that was so. "You're going to wish to be dead again."

Vegeta shook his head. "I'm going to correct a mistake, that's all."

"I don't understand."

The Saiyan's shoulders slumped in defeat as he stared at the Dragonball, his eyes were vague. "The original wish to return the dead was phrased wrong; _'Bring back everyone who was killed by Frieza'_." He snorted and shook his head in disgust. "I wasn't supposed to be included. Everybody knows that. My presence on this mud-ball is a joke. I'm just going to set things right."

Piccolo couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I must have hit you harder than I thought. It sounds to me like you're choosing to give up like some petulant little child who didn't get his way."

He didn't get the flash of indignation he had been hoping for. "Call it what you want, Namek," came the softly spoken response.

"The Vegeta I know would never give in to such a cowardly act."

"The Vegeta you _knew_ died on Namek. He should have been left there when the planet exploded," he chose as his answer. He considered the charred brush around him as he became lost in thought. In a voice that was nearly a whisper, he added, "Hell wasn't so bad. It least _there_ I was spared the humiliation of this miserable existence. I just want what was taken away from me."

"I can't believe you're just giving up like this. It's pathetic!" Piccolo growled at him, walking a short distance away. He kicked aside a branch as big around as his thigh and came stalking back. "What's the real reason behind this nonsense, Vegeta? Don't give me any of that ‘pride’ bullshit of yours either."

"I don't have much pride left, Namek. Most of it was forfeited just for the clothes on my back," Vegeta told him, the words dripping with bitterness. His features were haggard and drawn, revealing to the stunned Namek how many nights he must have laid awake plagued by the very things he was now confessing, "I should be the king of a galactic empire with millions under my command right now. Not be reduced to an alien refugee living among lowly humans wondering where my next meal is going to come from. This planet is slowly killing me one day at a time and I have nowhere else to go. Grant me some respect and let me do this: To make the wish that will put me out of my misery."

Piccolo glowered at him in annoyance. "You'll be regarded as a weak coward, you know that don't you?"

"I already know what's said behind my back. It's a great big joke that your prepubescent student kicked my ass the first time I was here on Earth. On Namek, I cried like a baby and it took Kakarrot to finish off Frieza. Please enlighten me if I've forgotten any more humiliating encounters," Vegeta said with his customary sarcasm. He was physically and emotionally drained, but the taunting dark humor was there. It always would be. "Oh yes, of course! I _also_ lost my tail: The very definition of a true Saiyan warrior. That's the most maddening of the entire situation because _I swear_ I can still feel the fucking thing twitching behind me, but when I reach for it there's nothing there. _I-have-had-enough!_ So, leave me alone, Namek, so I can finish what I've started."

There was nothing Piccolo could say or do that would successfully bait Vegeta on this issue. It was clear that his mind had been made up and focused on this task long before he had ever showed up. Attempting to sway him with words was going to be an impossibility, but he was determined to make the effort. "I'm not going to let you make that wish," he said firmly.

"Then finish what you were going to do."

Piccolo shivered at the memory of the near miss of his earlier punch. He had been so close... "No."

"Then fuck off. I've got work to do," Vegeta snapped. He turned to retrieve his Dragonball and continue the hunt that would see to his destruction. Just as he bent down to grab it, a low powered ki blast knocked it beyond his reach. He squeezed his hands into knotted fists and grappled with his rage. When he straightened again and faced Piccolo, his face was pale and very, very tired. It was obvious that he was in sorry shape to continue the fight, but he would if he had to and they both knew it.

"We're not finished here," Piccolo assured him. "Honestly, Vegeta. What would Bulma think about you committing suicide like this? Have you given any thought about her at all?"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed suspiciously and the Namek was encouraged by the barest flicker of emotion he saw in response to her name. "Why do you keep on harping about that woman, Namek?" he asked warily. "Of everyone on this stupid planet you've mentioned her twice. Why is she supposed to be of any concern to me?"

Out of desperation, Piccolo reasoned that perhaps the Saiyan might be able to handle the prophecy from the future after all. As things were going, it appeared to be a last ditch effort at best. "Vegeta, I'm trying to tell you that-" He flinched as that presence was back in his head, cautioning him against saying anything more. The words came thundering into his brain at such a volume that he had to squeeze his eyes shut. "Okay! _Okay!"_ he hollered, waving his arms in the air. "What the hell do I tell him then?" Listening, he nodded to himself several times, frowned and then grumbled, "Well, you can try that. But I don't think-" He visibly winced again.

Watching the show with bored, half-interest Vegeta commented to no one in particular, "I'm witnessing a Schizophrenic Namek. Will wonders never cease."

"Shut up, Vegeta! I’m in the middle of a conversation."

"I don’t give a shit. I'm just going to take my Dragonball and let you continue your little mental debate. That okay with you?"

Smiling for no apparent reason, Piccolo told him, "No, it’s not. I have to take you somewhere. Someone very important wants to talk to you _personally_."

Vegeta regarded him as if he had completely lost his mind. He released a dry snort and looked away, crossing his arms in defiance as he sneered, "I'm not going any-"

Piccolo was on him like a blur. With one deft blow, he cold-cocked the Saiyan and hefted him effortlessly over one massive shoulder. He picked up the Dragonball with his free arm and took to the sky without delay.

"I sure hope this works," he grumbled under his breath.

 


	9. Foreboding Destiny

 

Floating ten kilometers above the earth and cloaked from mortal eyes was an immense alien structure, its origins unknown. The partial ellipse of its shape and the hint of topiary on its surface gave the deliberate impression of nonthreatening tranquility those rare few chosen to lay eyes upon it. There was great wisdom to be found here and true knowledge. Housed within the alabaster palace was a repository of chambers where time-limes intersected, where dimensional barriers frayed at the seams and where nightmares and dreams were revealed. 

It was not a place to venture for those who did not have the disposition to withstand the depths of divination from its wizened host. The powerful occupant had been called many things over the course of his extended life span; God, being the most common. His province was far more humbling than what such an auspicious calling would suggest. He was not omnipotent. In fact, his aged frame was bent with the weight of centuries and he knew that he would not live to surpass another. An intuitive and powerful creature, he was not omnipresent either. His station in life was surprisingly simple. He was the watchdog of wishes. The caretaker of dreams. 

He was Kami; The true origin of the mystic Dragonballs. 

Despite the harsh summons, Piccolo did not want to go there. He could not refuse the orders of the ancient being because of their shared and very complicated history. Three hundred years ago, a nameless Namek stranded on Earth had split into two separate beings. One assumed the righteous, pious identity of Kami while the other became a scourge known as the Great Demon King. For all intents and purposes, the King was the paternal equivalent of a father to present day Piccolo who had been birthed from the Demon’s egg ten years ago. He was supposed to be the reincarnation of the deceased King, but something had gone very wrong. Despite possessing dark impulses, he refused to give into them. Helping his arch-rival Goku against the invader known as Radditz had been a start. Now, he had a keen friendship with Gohan and was aware of his growing tolerance of the other Z fighters. By listening to Kami and bringing Vegeta here, he knew he was headed in the right direction towards personal redemption. 

Vegeta was showing signs of coming around and Piccolo unceremoniously dumped him on the palace steps so he could search for the wise patriarch. He had to grumble under his breath that the old bastard had the foresight to order him around but not the wits to meet him personally. He looked to the doors of the palace, but did not have the courage to just brazenly enter the immense structure. He went around to the back of the palace calling for the older Namek with voice and mind. 

He caught up to Kami as the old Namek was leaving his small garden and paced nervously along side of him as the Elder made his excruciatingly slow way around to the front of the building. When Kami rounded the corner, he saw Vegeta sitting up and wiping the blood from his battered face with the sleeve of his jacket. He glowered at Piccolo disapprovingly. "You did not tell me that you had to beat him into submission to get him here." 

Piccolo shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?" 

The elder Namek shook his head in distaste at the other alien's actions. "You've done quite enough. Stay here," he barked and went over to where the Saiyan was seated. 

"Vegeta," Kami greeted cordially. 

Vegeta's dark eyes narrowed in agitation before he deliberately spat out a mouthful of blood on the polished marble floor of the Lookout. In the background, Piccolo made a strangled squawk at the Saiyan's belligerence. Kami only observed the act with veiled nonchalance, refusing to be baited by such obvious tactics. 

"Walk with me," the Elder said. 

"Ask me nicely," Vegeta snarled back. 

"Vegeta-" Piccolo tensed with outrage until Kami raised a calm hand in his direction. He smiled pleasantly when he looked back to Vegeta and actually gave a respectful little bow. 

"Please, Prince of Saiyans." 

It was the correct thing to say. Getting to his feet, the Saiyan went to his side and allowed himself to be led in an aimless walk around the sparse grounds. At first, there was only silence between the alien pair. Weighing his words carefully before he spoke, Kami watched as Vegeta cast a probing glance around his surroundings, eyeing everything and cataloging what he saw for future reference. It was that cautious, suspicious nature that prompted Kami to ask, "Your boyhood was not that of a typical Saiyan youth, was it Vegeta?" 

Vegeta snapped his head around quickly. "What does my childhood have to do with any of this?" 

"Please. Oblige me." 

Grumbling, he admitted, "My power level permitted me the title of Prince to the House of Vegeta of the Saiyajin Royalty Elite. Being such, my upbringing was different than that of a lower-caste Saiyan." 

"In what way?" 

"What's this all about?" 

"I am only curious. Tell me more." 

"I was being groomed for the throne," Vegeta finally said after a long pause. "I was forbidden to associate with those my own age who would later become warriors. I could fight with the best of them, but I had to learn things a low caste wouldn't need." 

"Like what, for example?" Kami asked curiously. 

"You're really pushing it," the Saiyan said. He received only that disarming, benevolent smile in response. "When I wasn't in training to fight and control my power, I had to study useless subjects like math, history, philosophy..." He gave an irritated shake of the head. "By the time I was five, I was already bored out of my mind." 

"Then you were sent off to Frieza in exchange for your world. You did everything that creature told you to do, but he killed your father and destroyed your planet anyway," Kami said in a saddened tone of voice. "You were never intended to become a soldier, Vegeta, but fate dealt you a very cruel blow." 

"No shit," he retorted sourly in agreement. 

"Tell me," the Elder continued. "Did you continue your studies while you were in Frieza's employ?" 

"I had an obligation to honor my father and my heritage." 

"So, the answer is; yes." 

Reluctantly, Vegeta nodded. "I'll ask you one last time: What the hell is this about?" His patience was ticking down with each probing question and they both knew it. 

"You have a surprisingly reflective and insightful nature," Kami concluded after a long, meditative silence. "It is evident in your manner and speech and clearly a result of your unique upbringing. Any other Saiyan, excluding Goku of course, would have attacked me by now." 

"I haven't yet decided against that, old man," the Saiyan assured him in a dangerous tone of voice. 

Kami's smile broadened despite the harsh words. "I have something very special to show you." 

"Great," Vegeta muttered under his breath but he followed the old Namek anyway. 

Blinking in disbelief, Piccolo watched the strange pair enter the immaculate palace. Kami actually stepped aside to let the small Saiyan in first. It was a privilege that had never been offered to him and, for perhaps the first time in his life, the young Namek had to grapple with the bitter emotion of jealousy. 

"What lies beyond this door is a very special room," Kami told him when they had reached the end of one of a seemingly infinite number of twisting corridors. They had taken so many different turns down so many identical hallways that Vegeta hoped the old Namek wouldn't kick off or he'd never find his way back outside. "I would not invite any other Saiyan here, Vegeta. I recognize a rare trait in you and I believe that you, alone, can comprehend what I am about to show you where no other of your brethren, were they alive, would understand. I doubt even Goku could fathom what lies beyond this door." 

"There's a shocker," Vegeta said without surprise. "Are we just going to stand here and admire the damn door or are you actually going to open it?" 

Inclining his head, Kami closed his arthritic fingers around the doorknob and carefully opened the door. "Enter at will, young prince." 

Casting him a distrustful glare, Vegeta walked inside of the darkened room a couple of feet and then halted as he considered his surroundings. Coming up along side of him, Kami asked, "What do you think?" 

"It's a fun house room of mirrors. Big deal," the Saiyan retorted, clearly unimpressed. All around him, and as far back in the room his sharp eyes could see, were mirrors of all shapes and sizes that stared blankly back at him. The air was musty and stale, reeking of ancient dust and tarnished metal. No one had been in this chamber for a very long time. The tension went out of Vegeta’s compact form at the desolate sight of empty glass and his despair returned. He resented this detour of riddles that was keeping him from his task; He had Dragonballs to hunt for and a death wish to make. He would find nothing here and turned to leave. 

"Wait one moment, Vegeta," the Elder said patiently. He placed a firm hand on Vegeta's arm that contained a surprising amount of strength. "Please look around first before you resume your self-destructive quest." 

Vegeta shrugged off the alien's grip with an expression of disgust, noting how the Elder had cleverly moved between him and the door. He debated an attack and decided to humor the senile old goat instead and walked further into the room, muttering to himself. It didn't take him long before he noticed that his presence wasn't reflected back from any of the smooth surfaces. Wandering over to a mirror that was taller than he was, Vegeta stared at it for a moment and hesitantly touched the dusty surface. An image appeared and he jumped back in alarm, watching as the shape took on a more discernible form. 

"Do you recognize him, Vegeta?" Kami asked quietly. 

"It's my father," he answered but he was frowning at the image in a thoughtful way. 

"Look closer.” 

As he examined the likeness before him, Vegeta crossed his arms and watched as the person on the other side of the smooth surface did the exact same thing. The Saiyan was dressed in the regal battle-dress befitting Royalty, but the style was different, looking streamlined and very modern. On the left-hand side of the man's chest plate was the Royal Crest of the House of Vegeta. 

Moving in closer, Vegeta examined the Saiyan's face thoroughly and, more importantly, his eyes. "It's me," he concluded, taking a step back. He cocked his head to one side and his counterpart mimicked the gesture, blinking when he did. "Me, as King." 

"You are standing in the Room of What Was, What Will Be and What Should Have Been," Kami told him. "In a perfect, unfractured timeline, this would be you; Today." 

"I'm... taller." His supposed likeness towered a full foot and a half over him and he found that more than a little disconcerting. "Why would I be taller?" 

The Namek told him in a regretful tone, "Your hatred of Frieza and your grief over the loss of your world stunted your growth during your formative years. Don't you remember?" 

"I didn't-" Vegeta opened his mouth to respond when the mirror to his left rippled in concord to his thoughts. He saw himself as a small boy, probably no more than eleven or twelve, practicing fiercely. Nappa was beside him, his lips moving soundlessly but Vegeta's memories filled that void and he knew what his former bodyguard was saying. The older Saiyan was imploring him to eat but he wasn't hungry. He hadn’t had much of an appetite those days, focusing all of his will on his training in preparation for the day when he would get revenge on what Frieza had done to him and his people. A Saiyan youth entering puberty required a colossal amount of food to maintain his ki and growing body. During those awful years Vegeta had perhaps eaten a quarter of what his starving body required and by the time he had finally snapped out of his grief the damage to his system had been irreparable. He hadn't grown much more and it had taken a long time for his muscles to fill out despite his harsh training. Not for the first time, Vegeta was thinking that all of that training had been an utter waste of time and effort and his face darkened at the thought. In response to his sudden brooding, the image on the mirror faded to an ominous black. 

Kami held his breath as he waited for the inevitable Saiyan tantrum that would destroy this delicate room and its irreplaceable treasures. Instead, Vegeta took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror as he resumed his inspection. He had made his peace with his size long ago and learned to use it to his advantage. It was amazing how many worlds associated small size with weakness. In fact, Radditz and Nappa used to make wagers on how long he would put up with the short jokes before he finally annihilated the population. A smile flickered across his face at the thought of his two cohorts and he paused mid-step as the mirror closest to him came to life.

He, Nappa and Radditz were surveying a recent act of destruction, standing in the scattered remains of people and debris all reduced to one unidentifiable charred mass. Radditz was braying laughter over something Nappa had said and made the mistake of giving the Vegeta in the mirror a slap on the back that made him stumble forwards several steps. That Vegeta immediately whirled around and punched the unruly-haired warrior directly in the crotch as hard as he could. After that, he and Nappa stood over the contorted giant laughing so hard they could barely stand. 

 _Good times..._ Vegeta thought sadly and dropped his eyes. Radditz was dead by Piccolo's hand, Nappa by his own. He was the only one left now. Kakarrot didn't even count; Super-Saiyan or not. The younger man was too damaged by this miserable world to be salvageable. He was a Saiyan by birthright only. That left no one for Vegeta to turn to. At least in Hell, he would be reunited with family, friends and enemies alike and he wanted that company very, very much. 

As if catching that stray thought, Kami remarked gently, "Piccolo informed me of your earlier distress. You thought that your being wished back with the others was an error." 

"Wasn't it?" he asked dully. 

"Look up, Vegeta." 

"Shit. I'm going to get whiplash in this stupid room," he grumbled but did as he was instructed. Directly above him was a white line that stretched on in a vertical slash towards the center of the room. 

"That line represents the course of your life," Kami told him, reaching up. One talon touched that ribbon of light and suddenly a second line broke off from the original and transformed into a blood red slash, running along beside it. "The red line is the result of your involvement with Frieza." 

"Not voluntarily," the Saiyan told him bitterly. 

"If it had been, it would have remained one path instead of two," Kami assured him. "The instant you were handed over to Frieza the course of your destiny was altered, running concurrent and waiting for the opportunity to rejoin the original." 

Walking along underneath of it, Vegeta followed the line until it came to an abrupt end. "What happened to it?" 

His voice almost a whisper, the Namek said, "That's where you died by Frieza's hand." 

Vegeta's face tightened at the reminder. Beside him, a mirror rippled with color and he found himself witnessing his deathbed confessional to Goku, speaking through a mouthful of blood, his eyes bright with remorseful tears. He turned away from the terrible scene with a livid hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the picture away. He still woke up some mornings thinking he was suffocating as he clawed his way out of a grave full of loose dirt. There wasn't a day that went by when he didn't dwell on the torture Frieza had subjected him to during those final moments on Namek; one hundred blows into his back at the blink of an eye, his spine shattering like glass, internal organs ruptured. The tyrant had done him a service shooting him through the heart and speeding his sure slow death. _Why couldn't anyone have just left him that way, damn it?!_

"The wish that resurrected you back with the others was deliberate in its wording. There was no error. You were meant to return." 

"Why?" He didn't appear relieved by the news. It was quite the opposite, actually. 

"There are several reasons," Kami said as he reached up and touched the end of the red line. At that exact point below it, the original ribbon of white resumed its course as it split apart into more than two dozen different colored lines that ran alongside of the original. 

Vegeta betrayed a soft, shocked grunt. 

Translating what was above them, Kami explained, "Once you were wished back, your destiny resumed its predestined course. Not only that, but it is now directly interwoven into the lives of those that you've associated with on this world." 

"Kakarrot..." 

"The green line represents Goku, yes. He's here. As are Piccolo, Krillin, Gohan, Yamcha, Tien... The orange line is Bulma Briefs." 

Vegeta audibly swallowed at the mention of the woman's name and his wandering thoughts were betrayed by the mirror beside them. Both aliens witnessed his tender kiss with her in the drafting department. "Knock it off!" Vegeta snapped to the mirror and the scene faded almost as quickly as it appeared. 

Kami observed his distress with amusement. "You care for this woman. It is the only line among this entire collection that is closest to your own." 

"Several reasons I got wished back," Vegeta reminded him in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "What's another?" 

"Of course. Here is what would have happened if you had been excluded from the wish and remained dead." Kami painfully stretched himself up again and this time at his touch Vegeta's personal line ended beside the red one where Frieza had killed him. The rest still ran along the ceiling, but their length had been drastically shortened. All of them ended at the same point. 

"They all... died?" 

"Them. The Earth. All life as we know it. Deceased." 

Staring up at the Elder Namek in confusion, Vegeta backed up to the start of his original lifeline and counted his steps carefully until he reached the end. He performed some quick mental calculations and finally said, "Three years from now. You're talking about the arrival of the androids that purple-haired punk warned us about." 

Kami had to betray a smile at the Saiyan's ingenuity. He was pleased that his initial decision to permit Vegeta into this fragile chamber had not been in vain after all. Able to rein in his thoughts with impressive self-control, Vegeta was also puzzling out the Destiny Grid with very little assistance. "Very good. Yes, the android threat is the catalyst that brings about the Earth's destruction." 

"And my _staying_ dead caused that to happen? Hnh. I always figured things would be the other way around," Vegeta remarked. He actually appeared to be amused by the whole affair. "My presence will actually change how it all turns out?" 

"Directly or indirectly, yes," Kami sighed. Above them the lines faded as the effort on the Elder's reserves forced him into dropping it. "I cannot tell for sure. The future is like a mirror's reflection; it can be clearly seen or distorted, even broken. And sometimes, it's very rare, but _sometimes_ the image will turn in on itself, fracturing under the stress and creating an alternate path." 

"A paradox," Vegeta cut in. "You're talking about the creation of a parallel dimension." 

"Precisely," Kami said, betraying a look of surprise before submerging it. 

Vegeta caught it and sneered at him. "Why does everyone give me that god-damned irritating look of shock whenever I say or do something rational? I’m smarter than virtually everyone else on this miserable dustball." In his mind, Bulma’s face appeared and he shut it away before another mirror could betray the thought. He wasn’t the smartest and he was willing to concede that distinction to _her_ and her alone. 

"I'm very sorry, Vegeta. I meant no insult," the Elder told him sincerely. 

Vegeta waved his apology away. He was looking up at the ceiling again and walked a short distance away, his face tightening with concern. "It ended right around here..." 

Alarm settled into the pit of Kami's stomach when he realized what the Saiyan was in the process of doing. "I believe we are done here." 

"Not yet we're not." Vegeta followed his footsteps on the dusty floor back to where his line had originally started and traced his steps, walking past the flustered Namek until he came to another abrupt stop. "The lines of the others had continued on, but mine ended around here," Vegeta mused. He cast Kami a shrouded glare and the old Namek felt his body grow cold at the variety of emotions visible in the small Saiyan's eyes, none of them good. 

In a cold voice, Vegeta stated, "Eight years from now, maybe ten. I'm going to die again anyway, aren't I?" 

Very deliberately, the elderly Namek could only say, "The future is not written in stone, Vegeta. I-I cannot say for sure one way or the other. I'm-" 

Ignoring him, Vegeta was looking into the nearest mirror with only intense concentration in his dark eyes. As if through a fog, an apparition appeared before him and he caught a vague glimpse of himself; battered and bloody, his clothes torn. There was a strange design etched onto his forehead- 

His eyes were _green_. His hair was _blond_. 

"What the hell?" Vegeta barked in shock, watching helplessly as the vague image dissipated like smoke. _He had been a Super-Saiyan!_ With a cry of rage, he brought both fists down on the glass when the reflection refused to reappear. 

Kami witnessed the scene in disbelief, unable to suppress a shiver. Somehow, Vegeta had willed a future vision of himself to appear. It was a skill that not even the seasoned Namek could boast very often and the Saiyan had done it effortlessly. "Vegeta!" 

"Goddamn it, come back!" 

 _"Vegeta!"_ Kami bellowed. He suddenly wanted very badly to be out of this room. "It is time that we left." 

Turning on him with bared teeth, the outrage was plain on the Saiyan's face as he demanded, "What the fuck was that?! _Call it back!"_

"I can't," Kami said in a tired voice. He went to the door and waited, leaning heavily on his cane. 

Trying not to show his impatience when Vegeta showed absolutely no signs of cooperating with his request, the Namek called out to him, "You have found out the truth to your destiny with a depth no other man would ever understand. Isn't that enough for one day?" 

Staring fixedly at the mirror, Vegeta ignored him as he willed the ghostly apparition to come back, his entire body shuddering with the effort. He saw nothing, not so much as a distant ripple. His concentration had shattered the instant he had caught sight of his hair in those blond spikes. He was still left too shaken to organize whatever mental connection it was that had originally summoned the vision. With an errant finger he stroked the glass in a gesture that was almost a caress. "I... I was a Super Saiyan." He had to say the words out loud to believe them. "That-that was really me..." 

"Vegeta." 

He growled at the soft voice and resented the interruption of his thoughts. Glancing over at the Elder, he looked back to the mirror before reluctantly stepping away and joining the relieved Namek out in the corridor. 

He visibly flinched when the door slammed shut on its own, once more sealing the room and its strange secrets from prying eyes. And minds. 

Using his cane for support, Kami took his time as the pair retraced their steps back towards the entrance of the palace. He made numerous attempts at conversation with Vegeta to draw the smaller alien out of his shell and evaluate his mood. The Room of What Was, What Will Be and What Should Have Been was disquieting to even one as old and experienced as himself, but he could not even begin to comprehend the reaction of such personal revelations to an uninitiated. Despite his best efforts, Vegeta had fallen completely silent. With his heightened sensitivity and insight, Kami could almost hear the Saiyan's mind as his thoughts ground together at a relentless pace. It was obvious from his tense manner that the brief moment of civility was over between them. Reluctantly, the gentle old Namek fell into a pensive silence. 

When they rounded the last corner and the palace doors came into sight, Vegeta quickened his pace, almost jogging in his haste to be out of the building. 

Falling behind, Kami called after him, "Think on these matters carefully, young prince. Do not do anything rash. Remember that this world needs you!" 

The only response he got was a ki blast that blew open the front doors. Without hesitation, Vegeta sheathed himself in his blue aura of energy and blasted out of the palace entrance, almost bowling over Piccolo who had been standing outside of the doors waiting for them. 

"Vegeta!" he called but the Saiyan was already out of earshot. With tremendous speed, he made a graceful arc as he returned planet-side and disappeared past the Lookout’s horizon. 

Relying heavily on his cane, Kami slowly made his way over to the younger alien, his wrinkled emerald features betraying no emotion. 

"Should I go after him?" Piccolo asked, wondering what could make the brash Saiyan flee the premises as swiftly as he had. 

"No." 

The pair watched the blue contrail of energy left in Vegeta's wake scatter to the wind and dissipate until the sky was clear once more. Eventually, Piccolo turned to evaluate the other man’s face and, when he got no reaction, prompted, "Well? How did things go?" 

"I'm not sure," came the enigmatic response. 

"What did you say to him?" 

"Many things." 

His heavy brows drawing together in displeasure, Piccolo realized, "You're not going to tell me, are you?" 

"No." 

Piccolo slapped his hands to his sides in frustration and angrily stalked a short distance away. He had never gotten along with the other alien on the best of times and generally went out of his way to avoid him. The main reason of that was because he knew that Kami viewed him as an undesirable; much like a wart or a boil. Before, as little as two years ago, Piccolo had never given a damn what people had thought of him until he had abducted Gohan for training. Damned if the little bugger hadn't wormed his annoying ass into his dark heart in a few short months. Following that, he had learned the brutal truth of his celestial origins from Vegeta, of all people. In all, it had been quite an eye-opener for him. To know he had once been looked at with such utter condemnation from his father's twin now preyed on his newly developed conscience. Still, it was somewhat reassuring to now have a kinship with this benevolent creature who could offer him some guidance and support whenever he needed it with no questions asked. It was a tie to his alien heritage and to his people he could look forward to. 

He suddenly came to a sudden halt and the breath went out of him as if he had been sucker-punched. All of those relieved thoughts carried a bitter reality that was only now becoming obvious to him. All of those things, few though they were... 

It was more than Vegeta had. 

"Is everything going to be alright now?" he dared to ask. 

For the first time Kami's amiable demeanor faded, granting a glimpse of the alien's true concern and worry. "...I can only hope so." 

Piccolo, ever the pessimist, didn’t like the sound of that one bit. "What about the Dragonballs? What do we do if he continues looking for them?" 

Wordlessly, his tense features never changing, Kami reached into the many folds of his robe and came up with a circular object clenched in one gnarled hand. 

Piccolo eyed the Dragonball radar in complete surprise. "He just gave it to you?" 

"No." 

When a more elaborate answer was not forthcoming, the younger Namek eyed the Elder shrewdly and then released a bark of laughter. "I’ll be damned! You sly, old pickpocket! I never would have thought you capable of such an act." 

Betraying a slight smile, Kami returned the object to a hidden pocket and continued to stare off into the bright azure sky. "Of course not," he said at last. "All of the most undesirable attributes of our predecessor went into your father. Wisdom was not one of them." 

Snarling at the deliberate barb, Piccolo decided his presence was no longer welcome and decided to take his leave of the gloating Namek. He took to the air and sped a quick course back to the Son household. 

Kami watched him go and stayed in his place. Before long, Mr. Popo appeared from one of the chambers of the deceptively huge palace. Wordlessly, he took his place beside his lifelong friend and mentor, his pleasant dark face never changing as he waited for the elderly Namek to speak first. 

After a very long time, Kami released a sigh that seemed to come from the cellar of his soul. He turned to his dearest companion and confessed in a weary tone, "These young ones are going to be the death of me." 


End file.
